


Sovereign

by superhoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Assassination Attempt(s), Background Relationships, Court Politics, Cultural Differences, Dean/Cas Reverse Bang, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hate to Love, Illustrated, King Castiel, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Injuries, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Prince Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, Spells & Enchantments, Switching, Very Hastily Arranged But Still, Virgin Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-25 18:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 87,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14982902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney
Summary: When his brother embarks on a risky venture, Prince Dean of Pellia’s only choice is to enter into a marriage with the king of Arxelle in order to save Sam’s life as well as his own. King Castiel is severe, aloof, and no more happy about their hasty wedding than Dean. Marital bliss is the last state either of them expects to reach, but as Dean spends more time in his new home, he and Castiel slowly begin to settle into a partnership that allows them to put the needs of their kingdom before their own feelings. The longer they spend together, though, the more those feelings develop, daring them both to wonder if they might ever be husbands in more than just name.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am so pleased to finally present my entry for the 2018 round of the Dean/Cas Reverse Bang challenge!
> 
> I had the incredible pleasure of once again working with the supremely talented Aceriee on this project. I fell in love with this prompt the instant I saw it, and as always, Aceriee has been an absolute joy to work with. Her gorgeous artwork is embedded in the fic, but please check it out on [tumblr](https://missaceriee.tumblr.com/tagged/dcrb18s) or on [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15062153) and leave her some love. Aceriee, you're a dream collaborator, and I can't thank you enough for everything. 
> 
> Thank you also to Anna, who read this as it was coming together and was subjected to my usual fits of dramatics. Thank you to Diamond, who provided feedback and support and a willing ear whenever I needed one. Thank you to everyone else, particularly the Unicorn Paddock, who contributed opinions or support as I exhausted myself producing this beast. 
> 
> And thank you to Jojo and Muse for taking on yet another challenge and running it beautifully. You take such good care of us, and I appreciate it more than I can say.

In the early hours of the morning, before the sun had risen over the tops of the mountains to the east, the king of Arxelle stood at his window and gazed down on his land.

Castiel sighed and ran his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. It was growing long once again, reminding him how much time had passed since the last time he had it trimmed. He didn’t mind the length, but he worried it might appear unkingly. 

He worried a great deal about being unkingly in general.

In just a few minutes, one of his attendants would knock on his chamber door and begin the long and arduous ritual of preparing him for the day ahead. Castiel treasured these last moments of stillness, watching as the sun slowly rose in the sky, bathing the palace grounds in its soft light. Arxelle was a beautiful land, and never more so than at this hour. 

A knock at the door startled him from his reverie. His attendants were early. Frowning, Castiel wrapped his robe more securely around himself and pulled open the door, mentally gathering his composure and adopting a neutral expression.

“Your Grace.” Victor bowed deeply, but when he rose, Castiel noted the look of alarm on his face. 

“Captain.” Castiel’s heart beat rapidly in his chest. What was the Captain of the Royal Guard doing here so early, and looking so troubled?

“There has been an incident.”

“Speak plainly, Captain,” Castiel instructed. It was the way of the Arxellians to couch their meaning in flowery phrases and careful words, but this was not the time for such prevarication.

Victor nodded, letting out a deep breath. “We have caught a trespasser at the western border.”

The light globe in the hallway flickered at his words, as though responding to the gravity of the situation. Castiel stumbled back, but recovered quickly. “Have they been taken into custody?”

“Yes, Your Grace. A messenger was sent ahead. The border guards and the intruder should arrive at the palace by mid-morning.” Victor paused, eyes flicking quickly over Castiel’s robed form. “Perhaps you ought to address the court before then.”

“Very well.” Castiel nodded and gestured to Hannah, who waited unobtrusively down the corridor, urging her forward. Then he addressed Victor once more. “Have the court convene in the Grand Hall in half an hour’s time. I will deliver a statement then.”

Victor offered a salute, then turned and strode away, urgency lending speed to his steps. Castiel watched him go, his heart sinking in his chest. He would have been grateful for Victor’s company and advice before facing the gossiping malcontents of his court. 

“Come along, Your Grace.” With the familiarity only she could afford, Hannah laid a gentle hand on his arm and steered Castiel back inside his chamber. “You’ll want to look your best this morning.”

Castiel bit back a scathing reply and reluctantly submitted to her efforts. As Hannah muttered to herself while selecting the most proper garments for him to wear, Castiel frantically ran through his country’s history in his mind, attempting to remember the last time a trespasser had been caught in the act of sneaking into Arxelle.

For hundreds of years, his people had kept themselves apart. While other kingdoms sought to conquer one another, or built alliances through marriage, or operated trade caravans to enrich their own resources, Arxelle stood alone. Protected by the mountains on one border and a mighty river on the other, the land seemed destined to remain in isolation. And its people fought fiercely to maintain its independence.

Castiel knew the law. He knew what must happen to whomever was foolish enough to attempt to enter his kingdom without permission. To bend on this point would cast a long shadow over his reign, and at this early stage, spell certain doom for him.

“Your Grace?” Hannah stood behind him, her expression terribly compassionate, as though she knew exactly what thoughts were swirling through his mind. “It’s time.”

She had chosen a robe of deepest blue, so dark it was nearly black. Castiel stood perfectly still as she arranged its folds around his body, leaving one arm and shoulder bare. The intricate lines of his tattoos stood out against his skin, and Castiel traced them absently, the older ones familiar under his hands and the newer less so. Then he bowed his head so she could slide his coronet over his brow, the gold cool against his forehead. 

Never before had he felt the weight of it so keenly.

“Thank you, Hannah.” He summoned a small smile for her, silently thanking her for her support. “Will you be there to hear my address?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Hannah said softly. “You may not see me past all the fine lords and ladies, but I will be there.”

It would help, just knowing she was there. Just knowing he was not alone. Castiel exhaled and pulled open the door to his chamber, the guards outside falling into step behind him as they made their way through the palace towards the Grand Hall.

A hush fell over the room as Castiel entered, every face suddenly turned towards him as he climbed the steps to the throne. He kept his pace even and deliberate, entertaining a brief moment of panic at the thought of tripping over his cumbersome robe and making a spectacle of himself. But he managed to seat himself on the throne without incident, the assembled audience raising their left hands and then pressing them to their foreheads in the traditional salute. 

“May the light of wisdom shine ever upon you,” Castiel began, taking refuge in the familiar greeting. There was a murmured echo from the crowd, who seemed less interested in pretty phrases than in what came next. Unusual, for them. 

“This morning, I received word that a trespasser had been apprehended at the western border,” he continued. Shocked gasps escaped several members of their court, and whispers followed in their wake. Castiel held up a hand to quiet them, and they settled, though their speculation still showed on their faces. “They have been taken into custody and are on their way here to the palace. They should arrive by mid-morning.”

And now, the moment he had been dreading. “If any among you have counsel to offer, I will now hear it.”

Though Castiel was the king, and respected as such, Arxelle had a long tradition of allowing its court to opine on important matters. Castiel was under no obligation to heed their advice, but was required to listen to it regardless. He found the process tiresome even on small matters such as the allocation of funds for the temple, and did not anticipate hearing what his court had to say about this far more grave situation.

As he feared, Lord Bartholomew was the first to speak. “Why was the intruder not killed on sight?” he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why bother bringing them back to the palace, allowing them to even see it?”

Castiel maintained his careful composure, but inwardly, he rolled his eyes at the predictability of it all. “May I remind you, my lord, that this is the customary way to deal with trespassers. Our guards are merely following long-established protocol.”

“How did they get past the river?” Lady Bela asked. “The ice is melting, they could not have crossed it, and the flow would be fierce at this time of year.”

“I expect we shall learn the full details when the guards arrive,” Castiel replied. “I know little more than you do at this point in time.”

“Are we under attack? Is this a spy, sent to test the strength of our borders?” There was genuine fear in young Lord Samandriel’s voice, and Castiel softened at it. 

“I do not know,” he answered. “I have not heard any rumours to indicate that any other lands are seeking to add to their conquests, but we must consider the possibility.”

A murmur ran through the crowd at his words, and Castiel caught more than a few baleful glances tossed in his direction. He could imagine all too well what they were whispering: that he was weak, that he was too young, too untrained, too ill-prepared for the duty of ruling. That no one would have dared send spies into Arxelle under his father’s reign, or under his brother’s. 

The same sort of thoughts that Castiel was so desperately trying to push aside in his own mind.

“All other questions will wait until after we have spoken to the guards and heard the full account of what has occurred,” he declared. He rose to his feet and inclined his head. “Go with good fortune.”

Once he was back in the private corridor that connected his chambers to the Grand Hall, Castiel collapsed against the wall, pressing his forehead to the cool stone and taking deep breaths to steady himself. If he could barely maintain his composure through this preliminary audience, how would he handle the far more daunting task ahead?

“Let us take you back to your chambers, Your Grace,” Muriel said. The young guard hovered awkwardly behind him, clearly uncertain as to how to deal with a monarch in distress. “You may await the news of the border guards’ arrival there.”

“Very well.” Castiel pushed himself away from the wall, adjusting the folds of his robe. How Hannah would cluck at the state of it now. “You will post a sentry on the western wall, and have me alerted the moment they are in sight.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” 

The guards dropped back as Castiel set off towards his chambers, giving him the illusion of privacy without letting him out of their sight. Though his companions said nothing, the small corridors were thick with tension and nervousness, all of them rattled by the news. There had not been an intruder on Arxellian lands since the early years of Castiel’s father’s reign. 

The tale of what had happened to that last intruder normally served well enough to discourage others from attempting to repeat his ill-fated adventure.

Shaking aside his grim thoughts, Castiel gave his guards a brief nod as they reached his chambers. Once inside, he immediately removed his coronet and placed it carefully on the stand in his dressing room. Such a small thing it was, delicate by most standards, just a thin strip of hammered gold engraved with a prayer for wisdom. Castiel closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his temples, certain he could feel an indent where it had squeezed too tightly. 

Anna would say he was being overly dramatic, indulging in poetic nonsense. But Anna was not here.

A gentle nudge on his hand reminded him that no matter how despondent he felt, he was not entirely alone. At Nyx’s soft purr, he picked her up and pressed his cheek into her silky fur, admiring the play of colours in its black opal-like tint. The wild cats of the Gray Mountains were not known for their amicable natures, being larger and fiercer than the domestic cats of the city, but Nyx had been given to Castiel as a kitten and had grown protective of him, though she merely tolerated most others.

“What am I going to do, Nyx,” Castiel murmured. “My ancestors worshipped your kind, you know. They claimed you were the wisest of all creatures, but then they became obsessed with acquiring knowledge for themselves, and they closed your temples and let your shrines fall into ruin. Perhaps I ought to bring them back.”

Nyx pushed her cold nose against Castiel’s ear, and he laughed in spite of himself. He gently set her down and watched fondly as she played with a bit of thread hanging from his coverlet. How he envied her simple life, free from any stress or pressure. 

He wondered what sort of life the trespasser led. What sort of person would be motivated to attempt to cross into Arxelle. If they knew the penalty for doing so, and acted in spite of it, or if they were isolated enough to not know what they risked. What they would leave behind when justice was meted out. A spouse? Children? A beloved pet? Were they a respectable merchant, a foolish youth, an elderly person with nothing left to lose?

Soon enough, he would know. And no matter what he learned, it would not sway him from the course the law demanded of him. It must not. 

Determined to distract himself, Castiel picked up the book that lay beside his ridiculously large bed and settled into his armchair, letting the worn leather binding fall open at will. The poems had been written by Castiel’s grandfather, of whom he only had the haziest of memories, as a series of love letters to his wife, who died long before Castiel was born. Poetry was a respected art in Arxelle, but to dedicate the words to a spouse was considered an anomaly, an overly emotional gesture. Castiel’s grandfather kept the book private, read only by his family, and it was one of Castiel’s most prized possessions.

He lost himself in the familiar rhythms, tracing over the lines of flowing script, until he heard another knock on his chamber door. Putting the book aside, he straightened his robe and pulled the door open to reveal Victor once more, the lines on his face more pronounced now than they had been earlier this morning.

“They’re here, Your Grace,” Victor announced. “I’ve sent a squadron to escort them into the palace. The prisoner is secured, and has offered no resistance along the way.”

“I want to see them.” Castiel surprised even himself with his words, spoken without previous consideration. 

Victor exchanged a wary look with the other guards before turning back to Castiel. “That is not customary, Your Grace. You are expected to interview the guards, but the trespasser will remain in the dungeons until such time as their sentence is carried out.”

Castiel had to know. He had to know who would suffer this fate. He drew himself up and affected his most commanding voice. “I am your king,” he reminded Victor. “And I say again, I want to see the prisoner. You say they have no offered no resistance, but I am no fool. Have them chained and guarded. But I will see them.”

Victor nodded stiffly. “As you wish, Your Grace.” With a few murmured words, he dispatched two of the guards to carry the message to the others. Then he stretched out an arm, indicating that Castiel should precede him. “They will meet us in the Mountain Room.”

Castiel’s heart beat wildly in his chest as he strode through the halls, his guards trailing behind him. Not for the first time, he thanked the long-dead architects who designed the royal palace with this system of private passages, allowing the kings and queens to pass between rooms unobserved. It gave him time to gather himself before appearing in front of the guards and their prisoner.

The Mountain Room, much as its name indicated, looked out onto the Gray Mountains, one entire wall made of windows. It was one of Castiel’s favourite rooms in the palace, and it distressed him to think that it would forever be tainted by what would occur here today. He settled himself into the seat at the head of the table and rested his chin on his hands, his guards behind him, and waited. 

It was not long before there was a light tap on the door and the others entered. Four guards, wearing the traditional burgundy stripe along their sleeves that indicated they patrolled the borders, and a tall figure with a hood drawn over their face, hands bound behind their back. The trespasser was pushed none-too-gently into a chair, the guards sinking into respectful bows as they caught sight of Castiel.

It took great determination not to focus on the hooded figure and to address the guards instead. “May the light of wisdom shine ever upon you,” Castiel said. “Please. Tell me what happened.”

The oldest of the guards cleared his throat. “Sergeant Turner, at your service,” he said. “We were out on patrol, Wilson and myself.” He indicated the dark-haired woman on his left, who offered Castiel a salute. “We heard something scraping about on the ice out on the river. Middle of the night, it was, so we thought maybe it was an animal, got caught when the ice broke up. But we waited, and as they got closer, we saw it was a man.”

“We hid ourselves and waited for him to cross,” Wilson continued. She shook her head in either dismay or admiration. Or perhaps both. “Didn’t think he would make it. Thought the river would take care of him. But he had some sort of gear, grappling hooks and spikes in his boots to help him grip the ice. He crossed the river, but we didn’t let him get any farther than that.”

“You did well,” Castiel told her. “All of you.” He nodded at Sergeant Turner. “Remove the prisoner’s hood.”

Turner looked displeased at the command, but did as he was told. He pulled the hood from the captive’s head, and Castiel got his first look at the person who had dared to cross into his kingdom.

Brown hair fell in tangled clumps but did not disguise the purple bruise blooming around the man’s eye. He flinched back from the light, but when he did raise his face, Castiel’s hands tightened on the arms of his chair, dread creeping over him like a wind of ill fortune.

From behind him, he heard Muriel mutter, “By the light, he’s just a boy.”

After a few startled blinks, the young man met Castiel’s gaze steadily. There was intelligence in his hazel eyes, determination in the set of his chin, and humour in the curve of his mouth, though it was currently set in a grim line. Castiel swallowed heavily and forced down the instinct to flee, to abandon this issue and retreat to the library, where intruders were only a story and never something that needed be dealt with. 

“What is your name?” he asked eventually, managing to keep his voice steady. 

“Sam.” There was no hesitation in his answer, no indication that it was anything but the truth.

“And where are you from?” It mattered little, in the end, but Castiel still felt he needed to know. 

“Pellia.” The guards traded uneasy glances at Sam’s answer, and Castiel felt himself tense. Just to the west of Arxelle, Pellia was a small land, but well-known for its efficient armies and its strong leadership. They had little history of conquest, but history could change in an instant.

“And why did you cross the border into Arxelle?” Castiel asked, fearing the answer even as he posed the question.

Sam’s face betrayed no emotion. Castiel almost admired him for that. “I sought knowledge,” Sam answered. “I had heard of the legendary learning and wisdom of the Arxellians, and I wished to share in it.”

“It is not meant for you!” Muriel exclaimed. Castiel held up a hand to stop her, and she subsided, though she continued to cast dark glares in Sam’s direction. 

“You have heard of our wisdom,” Castiel said slowly. “How is it possible that you have not also heard that we do not tolerate strangers in our midst?”

The briefest hint of bitterness flickered in Sam’s eyes. “I thought it worth the risk.”

There were a million things Castiel wanted to ask. Why the risk was worth it. How Sam planned his journey. How he managed to avoid being spotted by the border guards until those last moments on the river. 

If, given the choice, he would do it over again.

But instead Castiel closed his eyes. He let out a deep breath, and opened them to find Sam still gazing back at him, undaunted. Practically daring Castiel to say the words, to let this come to its inevitable end. “Take him away,” Castiel ordered. “To the dungeons. Give him food and water, and maintain a guard on his cell at all hours.”

“Your Grace?” Victor frowned down at him, then leaned in so his words would not be overheard. “He should be brought to the Grand Hall for sentencing.”

“Not yet.” Castiel shook his head. “I must-- I must think on this. To the dungeons, Captain.”

Victor hesitated only a minute longer, then nodded sharply. “You heard His Grace. Turner, Wilson, you and your partners are welcome to join us in the barracks tonight. The prisoner is under our care now.”

Sam stood without protest and allowed himself to be led in the direction of the door. Just before exiting, he looked back at Castiel and dipped his head in the briefest of nods. Whether it was thanks, or acceptance, or a solemn vow for vengeance, Castiel did not know. 

He did not know how he would explain this to the court and to his advisors. How he would prevent them from acting without his permission. How to go about changing a law that had been in effect for hundreds of years. 

There had been times when he had questioned the ways of his people. Times that he had wondered if there might be an opportunity for change. But never before had he felt so keenly that the laws of his land were too rigid, too unyielding. Something in Sam’s eyes had rattled him, had shaken his composure and his commitment to justice, if justice was what this was. 

He could not allow the expected outcome to become reality. He could not allow Sam to be executed.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean was expecting the guards. He made no effort to hide from them, guiding his horse through the frigid water at the ford, keenly aware of the figures watching him from the other side. If he were in their position, he would arm the guards with crossbows and have intruders shot on sight. But these Arxellians seemed to prefer to draw out the process, which gave him hope. Hope that Sam had made it across the river alive. Hope that Dean wasn’t too late.

He raised his hands as Impala stepped out onto the shore. For all the stories Dean had heard about Arxelle, he somewhat expected a more dramatic entrance into that land. But the wind whistled through the valley just as it did at home, and no lightning shot down from the sky to strike him where he stood. 

One of the guards stepped forward, eyes flicking over Dean’s face and the hilt of his sword clearly visible at his hip. “You are either very brave, or very stupid,” he said. 

“Perhaps both.” Dean held himself still, laying a soothing hand on Impala’s neck as she fidgeted, wary of the guards who slowly circled in around them. 

The guard shook his head, then shrugged. “I care not for your reasons. You have broken the laws of Arxelle and trespassed upon our lands. You will be brought to the palace and you will kneel before the king, and then you will die.”

“Nice to know there’s a proper order for these things,” Dean muttered as the guards indicated that he should dismount. “May I send my horse home?”

It was a different guard who spoke this time. “Yes. Your horse had no choice in this matter, and will not be punished for your crimes.”

Impala huffed, but Dean turned her back towards the river. “Go on,” he told her. “Go on home.”

He watched with a lump growing in his throat as she picked her way delicately across the ford, then turned back to his captors. “Shall we?”

Dean could hear them muttering to themselves as they first disarmed him and then dragged him back to their camp, discussing his strange pliability and his lack of attempt to escape. He kept quiet, listening intently, and was soon rewarded when he overheard one guard mention “that other one who crossed further north.” 

It had to be Sam. He only had a day and a half’s head start on Dean, and while he may have taken a different route, Dean now knew that Sam had indeed made it to Arxelle. And he could extrapolate from there that he would be subject to the same sequence of events Dean was about to undergo. He only hoped they would reach the palace in time for Dean to perform some sort of daring rescue and get both of them out of there alive.

So he made no protest when a spare horse was found for him, his hands were bound before him, and they set off for the capital. Only two guards accompanied Dean, which seemed unwise, but he had no intention of harming them. He had to reach the capital as swiftly as possible, and they would have the same goal. They could get him there faster than he could on his own.

It was foolish, reckless, and likely to end in both of their deaths. But what else could Dean do? From the moment Jess told him what Sam had done, he knew precisely how events would unfold. He’d kissed her forehead and promised to do everything in his power to bring Sam back to her. “Hurry,” she’d said. “I don’t have long.”

Dean cursed the cruel twist of fate that had struck Jess with this mysterious ailment, turning her once bright eyes tired and dim, her once radiant smile strained and weak. Sam had made this ill-advised journey in a last, desperate attempt to save her, to seek a cure among the Arxellians, whose wisdom and knowledge were unparalleled. But they did not share well, the Arxellians, as evidenced by Dean’s immediate capture upon entering their lands. Why Sam thought he could pass unnoticed, Dean did not know. But the urgency Sam must have felt, it was the same urgency that thrummed in Dean’s veins even now. 

He had to reach the capital before Sam was executed. Even if he could not save Sam, or himself, he would not let his brother die alone.

Dean remained quiet and compliant for the rest of the journey, his eyes roving constantly over the terrain, making a mental note of their route. If they were to have any chance of escaping, it would be important to know the way back home. With begrudging awe, he took in the soaring towers that seemed to grow right out of the mountains, the houses whose windows glittered in the sunlight, the well-paved road beneath their horses’ feet. Arxelle was a beautiful land, and Dean hated it with every fibre of his being.

One of the guards reached over and cuffed Dean on the side of the head. “Eyes forward.”

Dean clenched his teeth and refrained from offering a sharp retort. Now that they had noticed his gaze wandering, the guards seemed to keep a closer eye on him. They muttered amongst themselves again, and thanks to Dean’s sharp hearing, he caught the word “spy” more than once. 

Was that what they thought? That Dean, and Sam before him, were spies sent by their father to gauge the situation in Arxelle? Dean barely managed to hold back a snort at the idea. Pellia had no desire to expand its borders. It was difficult enough to maintain control of their own relatively small population, what with the king growing increasingly distant and disinterested in the day-to-day business of running a kingdom. And now both princes had gone off on a fool’s quest that might very well lead to their demise. 

Their cousin Jo would run the country well. Jess knew what Sam and then Dean had done, where they had gone, and if they did not return within the week, she would inform Jo what had happened, and Jo would take up the position of heir to the throne of Pellia. Dean felt a pang of guilt for abandoning his responsibility to his people, but Sam was always his priority. And it wasn’t as though Dean was leaving his country completely bereft. The royal council did a great deal of the work keeping things in order, and they would ensure Pellia did not fall into ruin.

Knowing so did little to lessen Dean’s guilt. But if by some miracle, he managed to prevent he and Sam from being killed, this would all become nothing more than a memory, a tale to tell on cold winter nights. He had to cling to that hope, the hope that they might yet survive this.

They rounded a sharp curve in the road, and Dean’s breath caught in his throat at his first sight of the capital city. The towers glimmered like pearls under the golden light of the sun, and clear windows reflected the blue skies above. For a brief moment, Dean forgot the reason he had journeyed here, overwhelmed by the beauty of it all. 

And then, like a sudden shock of cold water, he remembered that somewhere in this glittering city, Sam was in need of rescue. If it was not already too late. 

The guards quickened their pace, and Dean almost laughed at how they aided him without even realizing it. As they entered the city, they drew a number of curious glances, whispers following in their wake. Dean kept his head low and ignored it all. His focus was on identifying landmarks that would allow him to escape Telise, not on what its residents were speculating about his presence here.

In order to reach the palace, they had to cross a long and narrow bridge, with a guarded gate between it and the rest of the city. Dean’s heart sank as his captors offered a passcode he could not decipher, the gate raising only after it had been verified. This would certainly complicate any attempt at sneaking out of the city. 

He did not allow his disappointment to show on his face. Squaring his shoulders, Dean rode into the palace, ready to meet his fate.

They were greeted just inside the vaulting doors by another guard, this one with several gold bars on his tunic indicating his rank. His gaze swept over Dean, coolly assessing, and then he nodded once. “Another one?” he asked.

“Crossed at the ford. Offered no resistance, but won’t say much either.” Dean’s companions on the journey here shrugged. “Brought him here as instructed, Captain.”

The captain gave them a brief salute, then gestured for Dean to dismount. “This way,” he instructed. “My name is Captain Victor Henriksen of the Royal Guard, and you’re not going to give me any trouble, are you?”

“No, sir,” Dean replied. Victor was certainly intimidating enough, and Dean had no intention of provoking anyone until he found out what had happened to Sam. After that… well, then he had every intention of making as much trouble as he possibly could. 

Victor gave him a look that indicated he saw right through Dean’s pretended meekness, but offered no further comment. Instead, he turned sharply on his heel and marched down a long corridor, Dean trailing behind him.

For such a large building, the palace was strangely deserted. His boot heels clicked on the polished marble floors, echoing off the walls in a way that made Dean uneasy. He felt more an intruder than ever, out of place in his worn leather and rough clothing, stained by his travels.

After several more turns, they reached a set of doors almost as imposing as those to the palace itself. They reached far above Dean’s head, every inch of their surface carved with unfamiliar symbols, and glittered gold in the torchlight. Victor pulled on the handle, and they opened without a sound, revealing a scene that caused Dean to momentarily lose the ability to breathe for the second time that day.

The chamber was enormous, lines of polished stone columns stretching as far as Dean could see. From the ceiling hung strange structures that gave off a gentle glow, bathing the room in a soft light. And packed between where they stood and the far end of the room were hundreds of Arxellians, all turning to look as he and Captain Henriksen strode forward.

Dean kept his eyes on the front of the room, his head held high as he walked along the path that had formed through the crowd. As they moved further into the room, he could make out a throne at the other end, a dark-haired figure seated upon it. He racked his brain for any knowledge he had picked up about the ruler of Arxelle and came up with very little. He was young, Dean knew, and his name was Castiel, a younger son who had never been expected to inherit. But beyond that, Dean knew nothing of his temperament, or of his views on outsiders. Nothing to indicate what he would have done when faced with a trespasser on his lands.

And then there were no more bodies obstructing his view, and Dean caught sight of his brother’s tall form at the front of the room.

He instinctively darted forward, but Victor caught him by the arm and held him back. Dean struggled against his hold, his earlier complacency vanishing in his joy at seeing Sam yet alive. “Let me go,” he hissed. “Please!”

“I think not,” Victor answered. He dragged Dean closer to the throne, bringing him to the attention of those gathered near it.

Sam’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of Dean with his hands bound. His mouth opened, but Dean shook his head violently. It would be better to reveal as little as possible until the opportune moment. Sam bit his lip, nodding slightly, and Dean noted the bruise on his face with a cold fury that sparked through every nerve in his body.

“Is this how you treat prisoners here?” he demanded, turning his gaze towards the king. Immediately, the guards forced him to his knees, spears drawn and ready at his back. Dean ignored them, all his attention focused on the figure on the throne.

King Castiel was even younger than Dean had anticipated, likely only a few years older than himself. He wore a robe of blue so pale it was nearly white, draped artfully over his well-muscled body and leaving one arm and shoulder bare. The light from the hanging structures reflected off the intricate designs painted on his skin, overlapping patterns in turquoise and gold that stretched from his wrist to his shoulder. 

The king gazed down upon him, his eyes an otherworldly shade of blue. “This is how we treat trespassers.”

“We meant no harm.” Sam darted a nervous glance at Dean as though hoping he would not refute this statement. Dean snorted to himself but refrained from further comment.

“Your very presence is harmful,” someone proclaimed from the crowd. “You have no right to be here among us. You have no right to address the king.”

Castiel held up a hand to silence the speaker. “Enough, Lord Zachariah. I called you all here today to decide the fate of one trespasser. And now, it seems, we have two.” His eyes travelled between Sam and Dean, and in them Dean saw the wisdom the Arxellians were famed for. “There is a story here, I believe. I would hear it before we move any further.”

Standing close to the crowd as he was, Dean heard a displeased rumble from several of its members. “Kill them now,” someone murmured. “Should have killed the first one yesterday.”

So the king had hesitated, had refrained from immediately ordering Sam to be executed. Interesting. It did not endear him to Dean, but it did give him renewed hope that at least one of them might make it out of here alive. 

As though he sensed Dean’s thoughts, King Castiel leaned forward on his throne and gestured Dean to his feet. “Tell me your name.”

“Dean.” He would not offer anything further until requested.

“And you know our other intruder?” Castiel asked, nodding towards Sam.

His throat tight, Dean replied, “He is my brother.”

A whisper of excitement ran through the room, the crowd sensing the weight of his words. 

Castiel laced his fingers together and looked between Sam and Dean once more. “And you are from Pellia.” He paused, then clicked his tongue. “Of course. Sam and Dean. The two princes of Pellia.”

Dean winced. He had hoped to avoid being recognized as such. But perhaps, if they were lucky, King Castiel might take their royal status into consideration and pardon them in order to avoid a diplomatic crisis with Pellia. Killing two ordinary citizens for breaking the law was not cause for war, but killing a kingdom’s only two princes certainly was.

“And why have you come?” the king asked slowly. “So close behind one another, and yet not together.”

Dean glanced at Sam, shrugging. He would not speak for his brother. If Sam wished to share his story, that was his decision to make.

“I came to save one that I love.” Sam’s voice rang heavily in the vaulted chamber, his passion and his conviction evident in every word. “My betrothed is gravely ill, and our healers can do nothing to cure her. You are renowned for your knowledge, and so I came here in search of an answer, heedless of the risk to my own life.”

Risking a glance behind him, Dean thought he saw several faces softening at Sam’s words. But when he looked back at the king, Castiel’s face betrayed no emotion whatsoever. 

“And you?” Castiel asked, looking over at Dean. “You followed your brother here for what reason?”

“He’s my brother,” Dean declared. “Is that not reason enough?”

Something flickered in the king’s eyes, too quickly for Dean to identify it. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a richly dressed man pushing his way forward through the crowd.

“A likely story,” he sneered. “Two princes on a mission guided by love? This is a trap, Your Grace. They will rob us of our secrets and take them back to their kingdom and use them against us.”

“No--” Sam protested, but was silenced by a look from the guards.

“Lord Bartholomew, you have made your opinions quite clear.” The king shook his head. “However loudly you express them, I will not be swayed. I do not believe we are at risk of invasion.”

Dean looked at the king with grudging respect. At least he had the sense to see that Sam’s motives were as pure as they could possibly be. It gave him the courage to clear his throat and speak once more.

“Your Grace,” he said, copying the form of address used by the Arxellians, “please. I understand that the laws of your kingdom are to be respected. I ask only that you grant us some mercy.” He took a deep breath, and threw a quick glance in his brother’s direction, silently begging his forgiveness for what he was about to say. “If you must have blood to be satisfied, then take mine, and mine alone.”

Sam’s face went pale as he cried out at Dean’s words. A shocked murmur ran through the crowd, and even King Castiel seemed startled at his words, sitting back on his throne and frowning at Dean as though he were a puzzle he could not solve.

“And why should we be satisfied with your death?” the king asked. “When our law demands that both you and your brother be executed for your trespass?”

Dean heard at least a few voices from the crowd chime in agreement. “Because I am asking you to be,” he said. “Begging, if necessary.”

“Dean, don’t do this.” Sam’s anguished whisper tugged at Dean’s heart, but he did not allow it to weaken his resolve. This, ultimately, was what he had come for. Any way he could save Sam, he would, even if it meant offering up his own life.

King Castiel drummed his fingers against the arm of his throne, his gaze distant. It was not an easy position Sam and Dean had put him in, and Dean did not envy him this decision. 

After a few more minutes of consideration, the king stood. A hush fell over the crowd, all eyes fixed on him. 

“When our first captive was brought before me, I asked you all for your patience as I delayed the matter of his punishment. You have afforded me that, and I thank you.” The king inclined his head graciously at the crowd. “And now we have heard the plea of Prince Dean, who asks us to spare one of the lives our law demands be sacrificed.”

The king turned his eyes towards Dean, and in that moment, Dean thought he saw something like an apology there. “But last night, even before we knew we had not one but two law-breakers to deal with, I consulted with our High Priest, and we found an alternative solution.”

Hope bloomed in Dean’s chest. Surely, this solution would be better than death.

“What is this alternative?” Lord Bartholomew asked. He seemed displeased at the notion of anything other than bloodshed, but many of the other faces in the crowd showed interest and perhaps even relief.

King Castiel threw an unreadable look in Dean’s direction. “Marriage.”

Dean flinched back. Certainly, marriage was preferable to death, but it was not the answer he had been expecting. Judging by the reaction of the crowd, they were as surprised as he was. The chamber exploded into excited chatter at the king’s words, and he allowed them a few moments to converse before he raised his hand once more, silencing the room.

In that pause, Lord Bartholomew spoke again. “The law of binding by marriage has not been invoked in centuries,” he pointed out. 

“It has not,” the king agreed. “But it is yet valid.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Your Grace. For those of us less familiar with your laws, might you explain this….binding by marriage?”

King Castiel nodded. “Of course. The borders of our land are closed, and only denizens of the kingdom are permitted to enter. However, long ago, outsiders would occasionally be permitted to join us if they married into our society. If no Arxellian wished to marry them, well…” His mouth curled downwards. “The death penalty stood.”

Dean sucked in a deep breath. So that was their choice. It was not such a bad fate for himself, having no sweetheart at home to betray, but Sam’s face registered clear anguish at the choice before him. No matter what he chose, it would mean there was no future for he and Jess.

“Well, then,” Dean said, with more courage than he felt, “are there any among you who wish to marry a prince of Pellia?”

A murmur ran through the crowd, and more than one set of appreciative eyes travelled over Dean’s face and body, Sam receiving the same sort of scrutiny. Perhaps they stood a chance of impressing the Arxellians, even in their rough clothing.

But nothing could have prepared Dean for what came next.

“I do,” King Castiel declared.


	3. Chapter 3

Just as Castiel predicted, the chamber went perfectly silent in the wake of his words. Both princes’ jaws dropped, and Castiel fought the urge to laugh at how similar they looked in that moment. 

After a minute passed, Castiel raised his hand once more. “Please. While I respect the interest you have all taken in this matter, I will be holding a private audience with our…” He trailed off, considering his next words carefully. In light of the fact that he had essentially just proposed to one of them, it seemed unwise to refer to the princes as prisoners. “Our guests, along with the High Priest, in order to come to the most agreeable solution.”

He rose to his feet, careful not to trip over his robes, and signaled to Victor to have the princes escorted from the room. Castiel carefully did not look at them as they made their way through the corridors towards a smaller meeting room.

“Unbind them, please,” he instructed Victor. His captain’s face registered displeasure, but he did not disobey the command. The princes traded wary looks, but made no move to rush either Castiel or his guards. “Sit. Would you like anything to drink? To eat?”

Sam shook his head. “No, thank you, Your Grace.”

“You may call me Castiel. We are equals, after all.” It may not have been entirely true, but considering he was likely to marry one of these two men, he supposed they ought to get comfortable with one another sooner rather than later. 

“Castiel, then.” It was the older prince who spoke this time. Dean. His eyes were cautious as he looked at Castiel. “Is there some custom among your people that permits a man to marry more than one person? We have no such laws in Pellia.”

Castiel drew back, startled. “No. My apologies for the confusion. I am offering to marry one of you. Only one.”

“And you expect us to agree to that? To the other being sentenced to death?” Dean’s eyes went cold at the idea.

Castiel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I am not explaining myself well. The binding by marriage is a powerful ritual. It encompasses not only the two people entering the marriage, but their immediate families as well.”

Sam leaned forward, his eyes sparking with interest. “So if one of us were to marry into your kingdom, the other would be protected by extension?”

“Precisely.” Castiel spread his hands helplessly before him. “I recognize that it is not the most romantic of proposals, but I believe it would be an elegant way to resolve this situation without bloodshed.”

“It would have to be me.” Dean did not meet Castiel’s eyes as he spoke, looking instead at his brother. “Sam, you can’t tell me you could possibly marry anyone but Jess. Not while she--” He swallowed heavily, his eyes apologetic.

“Jess is the young woman you came here to seek a cure for?” Castiel asked, as delicately as he could manage.

“Yes.” Sam sighed and pushed his hair away from his face. “It would mean a great deal to me to be able to wed her someday. But if you would prefer to have me, Your Grace, I would accept.”

Castiel looked between the two brothers. They were both handsome men, but Sam was so young, and his heart had already been given elsewhere. Dean had made no reference to a lover, and was closer to Castiel in age. Logically, he was the obvious choice.

But if Castiel were being entirely honest with himself, logic had very little to do with it. From the moment Dean had pushed through the crowd, he had stolen Castiel’s breath with his remarkable looks. And his courage in following his brother here, in speaking up in front of such a hostile audience, had only endeared him to Castiel further. 

“I would find Prince Dean an agreeable match,” he said. Dean finally raised his eyes to meet Castiel’s, glinting green in the light. “Provided he gives his full consent.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth curled slightly. “Given the choice between marrying a king and being publicly executed… well, my answer seems clear.”

“I am sorry for this.” Castiel knew his words were not nearly enough, but they were all he could offer. “But the law is firm.”

“You could change the law,” Dean muttered. “You are the king, after all.”

Sam gave him a sharp look. “Dean, you know it isn’t so simple. Changing a well-established law takes time.” He gave Castiel an assessing glance. “And I suspect King Castiel is not so firmly seated on his throne as to be able to take such a risk.”

Castiel flushed at his words. Was his unease with ruling so evident, that even newly-arrived strangers could see it? But he inclined his head slightly, acknowledging Sam’s statement. “It is true. I was never expected to rule, and as such, am considered ill-prepared for the role by some. To suggest changing one of our oldest and most firmly entrenched laws would be disastrous.”

Dean drummed his fingers on the table. He had nice hands, Castiel noticed idly. Broad, capable palms, and strong wrists. His flush deepening, Castiel looked away.

“What sort of political situation would I be walking into here?” Dean asked. “If your people distrust strangers so much, would they accept me as your chosen partner?”

It was an excellent question, and one that proved Dean’s intelligence. Castiel chose his next words carefully. “Some might not,” he said. “But anytime someone of royal blood marries, there will be those who are discontent with the match. I’m sure you’re all too aware of this yourselves.”

Sam and Dean both snorted in amusement. “Indeed,” Sam replied. “Our own family has a long history of picking less-than-desirable partners. Dean, landing yourself a king will be quite the break in tradition for us.”

Dean rolled his eyes and cuffed his brother lightly on the arm. Castiel was pleased to see them both relaxing somewhat. It lent him the courage necessary to voice his next words.

“Prince Dean.” Castiel took a deep breath, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Dean turned to look at him, amusement still shining from his eyes. “This would not only solve the matter of you and your brother’s trespass on our lands. I have been under a great deal of pressure to marry since I took the throne. You are from a respected line, and truth be told, you would be doing me a great service in this regard.”

He licked his suddenly dry lips, holding Dean’s gaze. “Will you marry me?”

If Dean said no, what could Castiel do? He could not bear to see either prince killed, not now. He could help them escape somehow, he supposed, but it would look suspicious, and would do little to help his shaky hold on the throne. But he would have to. His conscience would allow him no rest otherwise.

“I will.” Dean’s voice was firm, no trace of hesitation in it. Castiel looked up to meet his eyes, and Dean nodded firmly. “You’re right. It is an honourable match. And it serves both of us well.”

Castiel opened his mouth to speak, to thank him, but Dean held up one hand to interrupt him. “I do, however, have several conditions.”

Suddenly wary, Castiel sat back in his chair and frowned. “I understand, of course. May I ask what these conditions would be?”

“Sam goes home.” There was no room in argument in Dean’s words, but Sam made a noise of protest regardless. “I don’t care about your strict laws. He goes home, safe.”

“Dean, I’m not leaving you alone here!” Sam hissed.

“Yes, you are. You’re going home, Sam. Someone has to rule Pellia in my absence.” A hint of bitterness crept into Dean’s voice at the acknowledgement of what he would be sacrificing in order to marry Castiel.

“I see no reason to disagree.” Castiel kept his tone mild, respecting the pain he had heard in Dean’s voice. “I believe you have a rather exaggerated understanding of our customs, but I can understand why that is the case. While our borders are closed to anyone not of our people, they are not closed to us. Any citizen of Arxelle may come and go as they please. Most simply choose not to.”

Dean seemed slightly thrown by this, but recovered quickly. “Very well. Good. And he can take whatever books he can find, whatever magic mountain herbs, anything that will help him find a cure for Jess.”

This time, Castiel noted, Sam made no protest. He bit his lip, a terrible hope in his eyes. Castiel shook his head, and watched as that hope dimmed. “No, you misunderstand,” he said. “I will send two of our most skilled healers with you. They will accompany you back to your home, and will do everything in their not-inconsiderable power to save your betrothed.”

Sam swallowed roughly, his expression clearing. “That would be most welcome.”

“We protect our own,” Castiel said quietly. “If I marry Dean, you will be as a brother to me, Sam. And it will be my duty and my honour to ensure that you and your loved ones are well.”

He risked a glance at Dean, who was watching him with an inscrutable expression. “Is there anything else you would ask of me?”

Dean slowly shook his head. “Not at this time. I imagine we’ll have a number of other matters to discuss as they arise.”

“Indeed.” Castiel sighed, stretching his neck from side to side. He gestured to Victor to step forward. “Captain, please have the High Priest brought to us. There are arrangements we will require his advice on.”

Victor nodded, saluted, and waved one of the other guards out the door. Sam leaned forward, looking more alert than Castiel had seen him to this point. “The High Priest? What is his role in all this?”

“He will be the one to perform the marriage ceremony.” Castiel still found it difficult to say the words aloud. How quickly the course of his life had changed over these past few days. “And, in addition to that, he is my brother, and I welcome his advice.”

Both Sam and Dean’s eyebrows rose in surprise at that, but before they could offer any comment, the door swung open to admit the guard, with Gabriel following behind. 

Castiel stood and embraced his brother. For all that he was taller, he never failed to draw comfort from his brother’s hold. “Thank you for coming.”

“How could I miss such an auspicious occasion?” Gabriel’s amber eyes flicked between Sam and Dean as he settled into the seat beside Castiel. “And these must be our two trespassers.”

Dean bristled visibly at his words, but Sam only winced. Castiel rolled his eyes and wondered if he would regret bringing such strong personalities into contact with one another. “Prince Sam, Prince Dean, may I introduce my brother Gabriel, High Priest of Arxelle. Gabriel, the princes of Pellia.”

“Welcome to Arxelle,” Gabriel said. “Now, which of you has the dubious honour of wedding our fair king?”

Dean offered a lazy salute. “That would be me.”

Gabriel gave him a longer, more assessing look, then grinned sharply at Castiel. “Oh, well done. This ought to be most interesting. Now. Prince Dean. Are you fully aware of what a marriage entails here in Arxelle?”

Dean cast a suspicious look in Castiel’s direction. “I am beginning to sense that I am not.”

Gabriel’s grin widened. “Then allow me to explain.” He pulled aside his pale green cloak, revealing the tattoos that ran down the length of his arm. “We do not wear these only for decoration. They signify our place within Arxellian society. Our family colours, our station, and our role in society all inform the design. You will be expected to be marked as one of us, and to a far lesser extent, so will your brother.”

A muscle twitched in Dean’s jaw, but he nodded. “I can bear that.” 

“You will also be expected to be a full partner to Castiel here.” Gabriel’s voice turned serious. “As you witnessed earlier today, we believe in open dialogue with our subjects. You will be required to make public appearances, to listen to the court, to be available to hear their thoughts and dreadful opinions whenever they wish to share them.”

“That does not sound so different than what we do at home.” Dean shrugged easily. “Again, I can bear it.”

“Mmn-hmn.” Gabriel did not appear convinced. “Finally, and most importantly, you will forswear the use of a sword from this day forth.”

At that, Dean tensed, setting his mouth in a grim line. “No.”

Castiel bit his lip, casting a pleading look at Gabriel. His brother was far better with words than he. It would fall to him to convince Dean of the necessity of this vow.

“From what I know of your land, Prince Dean, it is a far harsher climate than what we see here. Weapons are not necessary. You will not require your sword.” Gabriel’s voice was soothing, his expression guileless, but Dean did not waver.

“You expect me to leave my entire family, my entire life behind me, and bind myself to a man I have only met this day, surrounded by strangers who may wish me ill both for being an outsider and for marrying their king. And you expect me to do all this undefended?” Dean cast a dark look at Castiel. “I will agree to all else, but not this. I must be allowed to protect myself.”

“It is an important custom of our--” Gabriel’s explanation was cut short by Dean’s angry shake of his head.

“No,” Dean repeated. “I will not agree to this.”

Castiel exhaled shakily. “Dean.” 

His future husband scowled at him across the table. “You will not convince me,” he warned.

“I must try,” Castiel answered. “Perhaps, if you understood why…”

“Castiel.” There was a warning in Gabriel’s voice, but Castiel paid it no heed. Dean was impetuous, he knew already, but as evidenced by his acceptance of Castiel’s proposal to begin with, he was also a rational man. He could be persuaded.

“Do you know how I became king?” Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel saw Sam straighten in interest, but all his attention was focused on Dean. He was the one who needed to be convinced. 

Dean shook his head. “Not entirely. I also fail to see how it is relevant.”

“Please, be patient with me.” After a moment, Dean nodded, so Castiel continued. “I have three older brothers. Or I did. Gabriel, here. And two others, who are now lost to us.”

Dean’s face softened, just as Castiel hoped it would. “What happened to them?”

“After our father died, my eldest brother Michael took the throne. But Lucien felt he ought to rule, and challenged him for the crown.” It was painful to speak of this, but Dean deserved to know why he would be expected to follow such a strict rule. 

Castiel gripped the arms of his chair and forced himself to keep his voice level. “Lucien killed Michael. Stabbed him through the chest. His own brother.”

Both Sam and Dean flinched at his words. “I’m sorry,” Sam murmured. Dean said nothing, but his eyes were dark and his shoulders less stiff. 

“That single act of violence nearly tore our kingdom apart.” Castiel paused, shaking his head at the memory. “Lucien was poised to take the throne, but after murdering Michael, his support vanished. Even those who loved him most turned against him.”

“And then what happened?” Dean’s voice was soft. Curious, no longer defensive.

“He was punished for his crimes,” Gabriel answered coldly. “You have heard of our wisdom, but it is not wisdom alone that we possess. Our sister Anna is a great enchantress, and she was very fond of Michael. Her fury at his death was….frightening to behold, shall we say.”

“She cast a spell upon Lucien and upon us all,” Castiel continued. “His tattoos, his connection to the land, turned against him. They took on a life of their own, and they consumed him. And so too shall those of any Arxellian who sheds the blood of one of our people.”

“Hence no swords.” Dean sat back in his chair, expression thoughtful. “And Anna? Did she survive the spell, since it technically ended Lucien’s life?”

“She did.” Castiel’s mouth twisted sadly at the thought of his sister, who he had not seen in a very long time. “It left her alive, but greatly changed. And so, with two brothers dead, one serving as High Priest, and a sister driven to extremes in her grief, I became king.”

“That’s a tremendous burden to have taken upon yourself so unexpectedly.” Dean’s voice was softer than Castiel had heard it before. But then he shook his head as though clearing away his sentimentality. “And I understand why you have this law against weapons. But you do not hesitate to spill the blood of outsiders. So forgive me, but your laws seem somewhat at odds with one another.”

“They are certainly biased.” Castiel dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I know it is a great deal to ask of you, Prince Dean, but I beg you. Give up your sword.”

Dean exhaled slowly. “I do not like this. In the slightest. But I will do as you say. What choice do I have?”

Castiel wished they might have a moment alone. He wished he could apologize for all of this. But Dean refused to even meet his eyes, and Castiel’s heart sank in his chest. It would not be easy to recover from this. 

Gabriel clapped his hands together. “It’s settled, then. I imagine you’ll wish the ceremony to take place as soon as possible?”

“I think that would be for the best.” Castiel glanced at San, who remained quiet, his face pensive. “That way we might give Sam his tattoo and send him on his way. I am sure he is eager to be reunited with his betrothed.”

“I am.” Sam offered Castiel a small smile, the friendliest expression either brother had worn. Castiel wished Sam might stay, to act as a buffer between he and Dean, but he knew that would be impossible. 

“Two days’ time, then.” Gabriel rose to his feet, patting Castiel lightly on the shoulder. “I will begin preparations.”

The room fell silent in his wake. Castiel desperately tried to catch Dean’s eye, but he refused to look up from the patterns he was tracing in the wood of the table. Sam gave Castiel a sympathetic shrug, but offered no comment.

Castiel fought down his frustration and summoned Victor forward. “Captain, will you see to it that suitable chambers are found for our guests?” 

“Yes, Your Grace,” Victor answered.

“I hope you will be comfortable here.” Castiel summoned a smile, directing it at both brothers. “If there is anything you require, you need only ask.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Sam murmured.

“I’ll have a healer sent to look at the bruising on your face.” Castiel felt a pang of guilt for the rough treatment Sam had endured, but there was little else to be done about it now. “I must return to the Grand Hall and address the court once more. Dean, perhaps you would accompany me?”

Dean looked up, and for a moment, his expression was unguarded, almost vulnerable. But then he shook his head, his eyes going cold. “I am not yet your husband. My duties to your kingdom have not yet begun.”

“Dean--” Sam started, but Dean cut him off. 

“I would like to retire now.” His tone dared Castiel to contradict him, to put up a fight. And part of Castiel wanted to, wanted to scream at him and shake him and tell him he was being unfair, that Castiel was doing the best he could in impossible circumstances.

But instead, he nodded coolly. “Very well. Go with Captain Henriksen. He will escort you to your chambers.”

Sam nodded his thanks, but Dean said nothing. His back stiff, he left the room in Victor’s wake, not even looking behind him once.

Once the room was empty, Castiel groaned and dropped his head into his hands. What a brilliant beginning to a life-long commitment to one another. His future husband could barely stand to look at him. 

He allowed himself a few more minutes to wallow in his self-pity, then shook himself off and stood. He had a court to address, and a wedding to plan. 

And perhaps, even if he could not hope for romance, a husband to befriend.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean was avoiding his husband-to-be.

It was not, he admitted, the most mature way to handle their circumstances. But every time he met Castiel’s eyes, he was forced to reckon with the knowledge that he would see that face every day for the rest of his life. The flood of emotions that came with that reckoning was more than Dean felt equipped to handle, and so, he avoided Castiel as much as possible. 

He had other reasons. Sam would be leaving the day after the wedding, and Dean wished to spend as much time as possible with him before then. And Castiel was often busy addressing his court or holding meetings with his advisors. Sam and Dean were of course invited to attend both the court gatherings and the meetings, but Dean declined. He would have enough of that once he and Castiel were wed.

It frustrated Castiel, he could tell. Though his face never revealed anything other than bland courtesy, an occasional hint of sarcasm would creep into his voice when he asked Dean to join him for something and Dean refused. It brought him no small amount of satisfaction to know that he was proving an irritation to his future husband. Dean would do his duty when it was required of him, but until then, he owed Castiel nothing. 

“We owe him our lives,” Sam reminded him after Dean closed his chamber door in Castiel’s face. Again. “You ought to show him more respect.”

Dean scrubbed a weary hand over his face. “They ask so much of me, Sam. All I ask in return is to be given some privacy before I must devote my entire life to the service of this kingdom I had never stepped foot in until a few days ago.”

“You’re being petulant.” Sam rolled his eyes, but fondly. “Though I suppose I can understand why. Make your protests now, and then accept your responsibilities after tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. The wedding was to take place the next day. Arxellian marriage ceremonies were held at twilight, Gabriel had explained, in recognition of the transitional time in the participants’ lives. Dean thought it rather a fitting metaphor for his current situation: the light of his days turned to darkness, shackled to a man he barely knew. 

Dean sighed as he paced around the room. He and Sam had been given adjoining chambers in a quiet area of the palace, and as much as Dean wished he could hate them, he could not. The furnishings were rich but comfortable, the rooms spacious, and they had a stunning view of Mount Aurelia from their windows. He wondered idly what the king’s chambers might be like, if even the guest quarters were so luxurious. 

A knock sounded at the door, but Sam gestured at him to stay in his place. “Let me deal with him,” he murmured, one corner of his mouth curling up. “I suspect you will not handle yourself well.”

Scowling, Dean stayed where he was, craning his neck to get a better view. Sam pulled open the door, but it was not Castiel waiting on the other side. Instead, Gabriel grinned brightly at them, brandishing a large roll of parchment. “May I come in?”

Sam waved him inside. “To what do we owe the honour?”

“I have been given to understand that Prince Dean had been somewhat…recalcitrant, shall we say, in his interactions with the king.” Gabriel cast an indecipherable look in Dean’s direction. “But there are matters concerning the ceremony that need be addressed, and so here I am.”

Dean flushed, wondering exactly what Castiel had said to Gabriel about their brief conversations. He had forgotten that they were not only two important figures in the kingdom, but also brothers. And judging by the way Gabriel was looking at him now, Dean ought to be more careful with him in the future.

So he nodded as politely as he could manage and said, “What matters might those be?”

Gabriel took a seat at the table by the window, indicating that Sam and Dean should join him there. “The preparations will begin at noon. You will be escorted to the temple by one of my junior associates, where you will pass the afternoon in contemplation. You will then undergo a bath of ritual purification and be dressed for the ceremony. You will see no one but the temple attendants during this time.”

“What will King Castiel be doing during this time?” Sam asked. Dean was glad, for he had been wondering the same thing, but it sounded far less combative coming from Sam. 

“The same thing, but in a separate area of the temple,” Gabriel replied. “And then you will both stand before the altar and be wed.”

He turned to Sam, giving him a more genuine smile than Dean had seen from him until now. “Once Dean and Castiel’s union has been sealed, you will be given your tattoo as well. It will not take long for you, just a simple mark to show you are welcome in our land.”

The day-long process seemed slightly ridiculous to Dean, but no one aspect of the marriage ceremony gave him cause for concern. Except perhaps for the tattoos. He admired the way they looked on the Arxellians, but had never considered such a thing for himself. He supposed he would grow accustomed to them in time. 

Gabriel turned back to him. “Do you have any questions?”

Any smart remarks Dean might have made were halted by the coldness in Gabriel’s voice. He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak, and Gabriel nodded firmly.

“A temple attendant will call for you at noon,” he said, rising to his feet. “I suggest you take the time between now and then to consider how lucky you are to be alive, Prince Dean.”

The door slammed in his wake, and both Sam and Dean winced. “Well, you’ve certainly left an impression already,” Sam said lightly. “I hate to say it, but I agree with him, Dean.”

“I know.” Dean groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “I am grateful to not have been sentenced to death. I am. And for all that I have been avoiding him, the king is not so bad. At least he isn’t some withered old man.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at his words, a wicked twinkle in his eyes. “No, he certainly is not. Quite a handsome man, even I can admit.”

“Hush.” Dean could feel himself blushing, but Sam was right. Castiel was a handsome man. Under other circumstances, Dean might have been quite pleased to welcome him to his bed. But that was not a strong enough foundation upon which to build a marriage. “It won’t be like that. We will be partners, rulers together, but nothing more.”

“You will participate in the running of the kingdom, then?” Sam asked.

“Of course.” Dean waved a hand at the room around them. “This may not be the land I expected to rule over, but I have been training to reign since I was a child. And I take that duty seriously, whether at home or here. In marrying Castiel, I am also taking responsibility for his kingdom. And I will do right by it and its people.”

Sam’s eyes softened, and he cleared his throat before speaking again. “I’m happy to hear that. And Dean? I’m proud of you.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Dean said gruffly. “Leave the sentimentality for the wedding.”

With a smile, Sam stood, covering a yawn with his hand. “I think we ought to retire. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”

A small part of Dean didn’t want to let him go, but he knew Sam was right. “Pleasant dreams, Sam.”

“And to you.” With a last wave, Sam left the room, shutting the door gently behind him. 

Dean stared at the empty room, the quiet suddenly oppressive. He pulled at the collar of his shirt, taking a deep breath, and then slowly began to prepare for bed. But despite the soft mattress and the warm blankets, he could not rest. He tossed and turned, all too aware that this was his last night as an unmarried man. Tomorrow, everything would change.

After about an hour, he gave up on sleep and climbed back out of bed. Wrapping himself in the dressing gown he found in the wardrobe, he pulled open the doors to the balcony, the night air cool on his heated skin.

It was past midnight, and the city was quiet below him. Above, the stars glimmered like distant candles, and if he listened carefully, Dean could hear the far-off rushing of the river as it travelled down from the mountains. 

He inhaled deeply, letting the crisp air refresh him. From this vantage point, he could see the temple where the marriage ceremony would take place the next day. Like everything else in Arxelle, it was a grand, beautiful structure. The kind of place he would have dreamed about being wed in as a younger, more foolish man. 

Dean brushed aside those thoughts and turned his gaze back to the palace grounds spread out below him. He could see what appeared to be stables, with a large open area of packed earth nearby, presumably used by the guards for training. Looking the other way, he saw intricate gardens, gently lit by glowing lights much like the ones that hung from the ceiling of the Grand Hall. It would be pleasant, he thought, to wander there early in the morning, or to spend an afternoon training with the guards. He imagined they must fight quite creatively, not being permitted the use of weapons.

Perhaps it would not be so bad, living here. 

Turning his head to look back up at the stars, Dean caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. Above him, and several feet over, was another balcony. And this one was also occupied.

In the moonlight, Castiel’s profile was stark, his features seemingly etched from marble. A robe much like the one Dean wore billowed around him, and he tilted his head back as he rested his arms on the railing of his balcony, looking up at the sky.

He was beautiful, Dean realized. Just like everything else in this kingdom. He seemed to have been built from the same materials, all smooth lines and grace, his palace a perfect backdrop for him to pose against. 

Dean wondered what he was thinking of, if he too could not sleep. If he was looking forward to the wedding, or dreading it. What this night meant to him, what caused him to come seeking solace in the dark just as Dean did.

Just then, Castiel turned his head, and his eyes met Dean’s. 

Dean stumbled back under the weight of his gaze, piercing even at this distance. Castiel looked at him for a long moment, then lifted one hand in greeting. 

A spark of irritation flared in Dean’s chest. How dare Castiel intrude on his solitude, this night of all nights? Dean had been desperately clinging to his last moments of privacy before signing away his entire life to Castiel and his kingdom, and now he dared to wave at him, to break this peaceful interlude?

Dean squared his shoulders, pulled his robe more tightly around himself, and turned his back to Castiel without looking at him again. He stepped from the balcony back into his chamber and drew the curtains firmly shut, then settled into bed, his heart racing. 

Tomorrow, he and Castiel would be wed. There would be no door Dean could shut on him, no way to ignore him entirely. Their lives would be joined together from that day forward.

Dean only hoped they could endure it.

In the morning, Sam and Dean shared a quiet breakfast in Dean’s chambers. The palace attendants, always unobtrusive, seemed particularly silent today, as though respecting the solemnity of the occasion.

Dean hated it. At home in Pellia, weddings were joyful, raucous affairs, the ceremony lasting only a few minutes before the feasting and dancing began. These Arxellians did everything beautifully, but so stiffly. 

Once they had finished eating, he and Sam sat together, neither knowing what to say. Eventually, Sam cleared his throat and patted Dean on the shoulder. “I’ve been given a place of honour to observe the ceremony,” he said. “As the only representative of your family present.”

“What will Father think, when you tell him I’ve married a foreign king and will be staying here to rule alongside him?” Dean could hardly imagine. Years ago, John might have raged at both of them, come riding into Arxelle and demanded that Dean be returned to him. But now, he had little interest in anything other than his drink. Bitterly, Dean wondered if his father would even notice he was gone.

Sam just shrugged. “I’ll handle Father. And the council. You have other things to concern yourself with, Dean.”

Dean made a face at him. Ever the reasonable one, Sam. “You will tell them I’m sorry, though, won’t you? Bobby, and Ellen. And Jo and Benny, and the others?”

“I will.” For the first time, Sam’s mask of cheerful support slipped, and Dean saw the gathering sadness in his brother’s eyes. “They will all know how brave you have been, and what you have done not only for me, but for Jess. If the healers they send can help, we’ll both owe you our lives.”

A lump growing in his throat, Dean brushed aside his words. “It’s as Castiel said: you are my brother, and Jess may as well be my sister. It is my duty and my honour to ensure you are both healthy and happy. Just don’t forget to name your firstborn after me.”  
Sam laughed, but his eyes shone with unshed tears. “We will,” he promised. “Of course we will.”

“Go on, then.” Dean waved him towards the door, knowing if they continued this conversation, it would quickly devolve into them both weeping. And he needed to remain strong, today of all days. “I will be summoned shortly.”

Sam rose to his feet and pulled Dean into a tight embrace. “Good luck,” he murmured. 

Dean clung to him, then tore himself away with reluctance. “I’ll be fine,” he said with a confidence he did not feel. 

And judging by the wry look on Sam’s face, he saw right through Dean’s bluster. But he just shook his head, gave one last wave, and left the room.

Perching on the edge of his bed, Dean fiddled with the hem of his shirt. The cloth was rough, and still stained from travel, but it was something from home. From this day forward, he imagined he would be expected to dress as the Arxellians did, at least in public. He found their robes entirely impractical, but he supposed he would have to adjust to them in time. At least in the security of his own chambers, he might be permitted to continue to wear his own garments.

Lost in thoughts of what his life would be like after this day, Dean almost missed the polite tap at his door. When it sounded again, he pulled himself out of his reverie and opened the door to reveal two temple attendants in white robes. 

“Prince Dean?” the boy said, giving him a low bow. “Please, follow us.”

Dean hesitated. “Is there anything I need bring with me?”

“Only yourself,” the girl answered. A small, encouraging smile hovered on her face. “This way, my lord.”

Dean followed them through the palace, barely paying attention to the route they took. He was relieved when they turned down a corner and left the building through a small door, the fresh air a welcome change. 

“May I ask your names?” His guides turned to look at him, surprise on both of their faces. Dean gathered from this that it was not customary to speak along this journey, but he cared little. “If we are to be together for much of the day, it would make me more comfortable.”

They exchanged unreadable glances, but then the girl shrugged. “I am Hael, and this is Inias.”

“Thank you.” Dean offered them a smile. His task of charming the Arxellians ought to begin here, he figured.

Hael returned his smile. “You are welcome, Prince Dean. Now, come along.”

They led him along a well-tended path that snaked around the rear of the palace and rose steadily uphill. After about fifteen minutes, they rounded a corner and the temple rose before them, its graceful pillars silhouetted against the mountains behind it. 

Inias gestured to a small door set into the rear of the building. “The guests will arrive via the processional way,” he explained, “but we use this entrance to proceed directly to the lower levels of the temple, where your preparations will take place.”

Dean nodded. “And has the king already arrived?”

Hael and Inias traded amused glances. “We may not speak of it, my lord,” Hael answered. “You will see him soon enough.”

That was not really what Dean had meant by his question. In fact, he had been hoping _not_ to encounter Castiel until strictly necessary. Reassured, he followed the temple attendants through the door and into their domain.

Even in the lower levels, it was a place of wonder. The building seemed carved right out of the mountains, the rough stone walls worn smooth over the years. Lights flickered along the hallway, bathing it in a warm glow, and everywhere, the scent of clean air and fresh pine lingered. Hael and Inias led him further into the building, then opened a small door and gestured him inside.

“We will return for you in three hours’ time,” Inias told him. “May the light of wisdom shine ever on you.”

“And on you.” Dean had quickly learned the traditional reply, and felt a flicker of pride at the way the attendants smiled at him before they left. 

Once they had gone, Dean took stock of his surroundings. The chamber was small, roughly square, with one large light-globe hanging in the centre of the room. A rug woven in shades of blue and gold covered the stone floor, but there were no chairs, no benches, no furniture whatsoever. And he was expected to spend three hours here, contemplating his future?

Dean snorted in disbelief. He lowered himself to the ground, thankful that the rug was as soft as it looked, and stretched out on his back. His restlessness the night before had meant that he was still rather tired, and within minutes, he was asleep. 

The next thing he knew, a gentle hand was shaking him by the shoulder. It was Inias, crouched over him with a startled look in his eyes. “Wake up, my lord.”

Dean blinked blearily at him, then rolled to his feet. Inias looked rather affronted at having caught him sleeping, but Hael’s lips twitched in a barely-hidden grin. Dean winked at her as he straightened his tunic. “Is it time?”

“It is,” she replied. “I trust your mind is settled after your….contemplation.”

Inias scoffed, but when Dean winked at him, the solemn lines of his face softened somewhat. They were good youths, both of them. Perhaps these Arxellians could be taught to have some fun once in a while. 

They led him down another long corridor, this one leading downwards. The air grew warmer as they descended, and when they halted, Dean could feel the sweat trickling down the back of his neck. 

“I go no further,” Hael announced. She gave Dean a brief curtsey. “I shall return to escort you to the ceremony, my lord.”

“Thank you, Hael.” She smiled at him once more, then turned, heading back the way they had come.

Inias waved Dean forward. “And now you must be purified in body, as you were to have been purified in mind.”

“It would take more than three hours of silent contemplation to achieve that.” Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Inias flush at his words. But before he could say anything else, he was distracted by the sight in front of him.

They stood on a ledge overlooking an enormous pool, steam rising from its surface to hang in the air. The light globes reflected off the chunks of crystal embedded in the stone walls of the cavern, giving the room an eerie glow.

Dean let out a low whistle. “Now this kind of purification, I do not mind.” 

“Good.” Inias gave him a satisfied now. “Careful on the stairs, my lord.”

The steps were carved directly into the rock, worn smooth by years of use. Dean made his way slowly down towards the pool, Inias following after him. “Do I just...jump in?” he asked, crouching down to test the water. It was hot, and he drew back, startled.

“It is heated by natural hot springs in the mountains,” Inias explained. “You might want to ease in slowly.”

Dean rolled his eyes at the sarcastic tone. He stripped off his clothing, leaving it in a pile on the ground, and slid gently into the water. 

As boys, he and Sam had spent a great deal of time at the lake near their own castle. Dean was a confident swimmer, but even to him, the depth of the pool was frightening. He submerged himself entirely, but could not determine how deep it went. 

The longer he stayed in the pool, however, the more relaxed he became. The warmth of the water was soothing, and when he floated on his back, he could stare up at the light globe, marvelling at its ingenuity. The cavern was quiet, and it was calm, and Dean almost forgot why he was here, lost in the serenity of it all.

After some time, Inias gently cleared his throat. “It is time to move on, my lord.” He sounded as though he regretted having to interrupt Dean. 

With a sigh, Dean swam back to the edge of the pool and pulled himself out. Inias blushed and looked away from his uncovered body, passing him a soft white robe to cover himself with.

“And now it is time to make me pretty for my wedding?” Dean teased, following him back up the stairs and away from the pool. 

Inias frowned at him. “Pretty has little to do with it,” he said. “You must be dressed according to our traditions, nothing else.”

And just like that, the formality returned. Dean shook his head but trotted obediently after Inias. Their next destination was up two flights of stairs, bringing them roughly level with the main part of the temple, by Dean’s estimation. It was a small chamber filled with light, and Inias instructed Dean to stand on a raised platform in the middle of the room. 

And then came the draping of the robe. It was pure white in colour, with a border of grass green, and when Inias arranged it around Dean’s body with a deft hand, the green draped artfully over him in perfect, precise folds that swayed with his every movement. 

Inias surveyed him with a critical eye, then nodded, apparently satisfied. “Take small steps,” he advised. “The robes can be cumbersome when you are not accustomed to wearing them.”

Dean did as instructed, stepping carefully down from the platform. There was no mirror in the room, so he could not see how he looked, but he cared little. He just wanted to be done with this. 

There was a light tap on the door, and Hael stuck her head in. “Everything is ready. We only await Prince Dean.”

They both turned to him with expectant looks on their faces, and Dean fought the urge to run, to tear off the heavy robe and flee through the temple, past all the horrified guests and straight out of the city. But instead, he drew himself up as tall he could and gave them a single nod. 

“I’m ready.”

“It’s quite simple from here,” Hael assured him. “You enter from this side, and the king enters from the other. You meet the High Priest in front of the altar, he speaks the words of binding, and that’s all.”

It did sound simple. But it meant so much. Dean took a deep, steadying breath as the attendants led him down one last hall, then pulled open a small door. 

“It has been an honour to serve you today, my lord.” Inias offered him a tentative smile. “And may I say how pleased I am that you will be staying among us.”

“Remember us fondly.” Hael winked at him. “When you are a king.”

Dean smiled at them, hoping it conveyed his thanks well enough, as he could not bring himself to speak. He could hear the murmurs from within the temple, the crowd waiting for the ceremony to begin, and his feeling of panic intensified.

But he thought of what this would mean, not only to Sam but to Jess, and even to Castiel, who had admitted he needed to marry for his own benefit. Dean could not disappoint them, any of them. So, mindful of his robe, he took the first step towards his new life.

A hush fell over the crowd as they caught sight of Dean entering the room. The inner sanctum of the temple was enormous, and it was filled to the brim with Arxellians, all of them watching in rapt anticipation as Dean and Castiel made their way towards the centre of the room. It took several steps before Dean could even see Castiel’s features, set in smooth lines as he glided towards Dean. His robes were also white, but trimmed in blue rather than green. To match his eyes, Dean thought foolishly.

They reached the altar, where Gabriel waited for them, resplendent in golden robes and yet unusually solemn. Castiel barely glanced at Dean, but extended one hand towards him. Dean fought the urge to roll his eyes, but caught Castiel’s hand in his own.

“In the shadow of Mount Aurelia, as the light of wisdom turns to the darkness of contemplation, we gather here today to join two minds together as one.” Gabriel’s voice rang out in the room, and all others went silent. “It is a blessed day when such an event occurs, and we are all honoured to bear witness to it today.”

He gestured to another attendant, who stepped forward with an aged piece of parchment in her hands. Gabriel took it from her and raised it in the air so that it was visible to the crowd. “By signing their names here, Prince Dean and King Castiel agree to join their lives together, to mutually support and encourage one another, and to challenge each other to be the best men they can be.”

Gabriel offered the parchment and a quill to Dean. “Prince Dean, you may proceed.”

There was a sense of anticipation that filled even this lofty room. If there was a moment for Dean to turn back, this was it. But though his hand trembled slightly as he did, he let go of Castiel’s hand and took the quill, quickly signing his name to the parchment.

Something like satisfaction gleamed in Gabriel’s eyes as he passed the parchment and quill to Castiel. Just before he set down his name, Castiel glanced up at Dean, then looked away just as quickly, scrawling his name across the paper right beside Dean’s.

“By the power lent to me, I now pronounce you united in spirit,” Gabriel declared. The room exploded into applause, and Castiel reached for Dean’s hand once more, gently turning him to face the crowd. Dean forced himself to smile, to lift his other hand in acknowledgment of their cheers, but he pulled away from Castiel’s grip as quickly as he could.

Raising a hand, Gabriel quieted the crowd. “Now, as King Dean is a foreigner among us, he must now be officially made a member of Arxellian society.”

Another attendant stepped forward, this one in robes of deep purple. Her dark hair fell in waves around her shoulders, and in her hands she carried what appeared to be a small palette of paints. 

“Your tattoos.” Castiel’s voice was quiet, only loud enough for Dean to hear it. “It will not hurt. Meg is very skilled.”

Dean gave him a disbelieving look, but held himself still as the woman approached. His left arm was bared by the folds of his robe, and that was where she began to work, painting onto his skin with a deftness that surprised him. Within minutes, the whole length of his arm was covered in swirling designs, greens and golds and a hint of blue around his wrist. Despite himself, Dean had to admit that it was rather stunning. 

“You will feel a slight warmth,” Meg warned him, her voice low. Then she held her hands over Dean’s newly painted skin and spoke a phrase under her breath that caused the marks to glow as though lit from within. Dean gasped at the sensation, not painful but shocking nonetheless, and then it faded. When he pressed a finger to one of the markings, it did not smudge, the paint having seeped into his skin.  
Then, to Dean’s surprise, Meg turned to Castiel, who stretched out his arm for her to consider. Somehow, he had not thought Castiel would be marked as part of the process. But Meg painted a quick design around his wrist in the same green she had used on Dean, then repeated the incantation to seal it into his flesh. 

“It is done.” Gabriel nodded to Meg, and she slipped back into the crowd of attendants at the side of the altar. “People of Arxelle, I present to you your new kings. May the light of wisdom shine ever on their rule.”

And just like that, the ceremony was concluded, faster than Dean could possibly have anticipated. He was married to Castiel, and there was no turning back now.


	5. Chapter 5

All along the processional route from the temple back to the palace, Castiel snuck glances at his new husband, attempting to gauge his mood. Dean’s face revealed nothing, with only the barest hint of a smile hovering around his lips as the crowds who lined the streets offered their congratulations. He waved and nodded, more regal than Castiel had seen him thus far, but still so distant. 

He said not a word to Castiel the entire way. 

Once they reached the palace, Castiel paused in the entrance chamber and turned to address the members of the court as they trickled in. “We thank you for joining us today, and for bearing witness to this most happy union.” The ritual words seemed to stick in his throat, having little relation to the actuality of their situation. He pressed his hand lightly against Dean’s, and fortunately Dean understood his hint, taking Castiel’s hand in his own and permitting Castiel to raise them up together. “We pray that you pass a most serene evening.”

There was a smattering of polite applause from the crowd, and then Castiel turned away, pulling Dean after him. It was with little surprise and yet a tinge of regret that he felt Dean immediately drop his hand, though he did keep pace with Castiel as they strode away down the hall.

“Would you please slow down for a moment?” Dean’s voice was clipped. “The temple attendants didn’t tell me any of what happens next.”

Surprised, Castiel turned to look at him. “What normally follows a wedding,” he offered.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, distracting Castiel with the way his fresh tattoos glimmered in the light. “It has been brought to my attention that customs are quite different here than they are at home.”

“Oh.” Castiel should have realized that. He continued down the hall, slower this time, looking back to speak to Dean over his shoulder as they walked. “It is our first night as a wedded couple, so we spend it together, in order to...deepen our bond, so to speak.”

Dean’s eyes widened, but he recovered quickly. “No feast? No celebration?”

They reached Castiel’s chambers, and the guards at the door straightened at their approach, pulling the doors open wide for them. “No,” Castiel said as they entered, “this night is for us, and us alone.”

A frown hovered on Dean’s face, and he opened his mouth to comment, but then he stumbled, cursing under his breath. Castiel moved to assist him, but Dean held up a hand in a warning gesture. “I’m fine. These damn robes.”

“They do take some getting used to.” Castiel hovered awkwardly, but Dean was already looking around the room, eyes roving over the sitting area, the desk in the corner, the wall of windows and the balcony. His gaze lingered there for a moment, and Castiel tensed, remembering the incident from the night before. He had hoped it might be the prelude to a truce of sorts, but Dean resisted his efforts at every turn.

That did not mean he could give up trying. They were married now, and Dean was a citizen of Arxelle. Castiel had a duty to him, in more ways than one. No matter how frustrated he became with Dean’s reticence, his surly attitude and his refusal to give Castiel even an inch of respect, no matter how greatly it frustrated Castiel that Dean was, even now, looking everywhere but at him--

A sharp hissing distracted Castiel from his growing anger. On the far side of the room, Dean had stopped, hands held out in front of him as Nyx slunk out from under the bed, her fur standing up on end.

“I don’t think your cat likes me very much,” Dean said, throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder at Castiel. “That thing is enormous.”

Castiel crossed the room and scooped Nyx into his arms, burying his face against her soft fur. She quieted somewhat under his touch, but continued to watch Dean with an unwavering intensity, her body still tense in Castiel’s hands. 

“This is Nyx. She’s a mountain cat, and they’re not normally kept as pets, but she has been with me for a long time.” He stroked Nyx’s head, and she butted against his chin, bringing a soft smile to his face. 

Dean was still watching them both, a wary expression on his face. “She looks like she wants to claw me to death while I sleep.”

“She doesn’t like other people very much,” Castiel admitted. “I’m sure she’ll grow accustomed to you in time.”

Dean did not look reassured, but he did step closer, extending one hand for Nyx to sniff. She pushed her face against his palm, hissed once, and leapt down from Castiel’s arms to retreat to the corner of the room, where she stared at Dean, tail twitching.

“Such a warm welcome,” Dean muttered under his breath. “Ought I expect the same treatment from all your subjects?”

“Our subjects,” Castiel corrected. “And the manner of your reception will depend greatly on how you present yourself to them. If you ever decide to do so.”

Dean’s jaw tightened, his eyes going cold. “Forgive me for wanting to spend my last few days as a free man with my brother, whom I may not see again for a very long time. For your information, I was prepared to meet with your court tonight, to begin the process of familiarizing myself with this land, its people, and its customs, but it appears instead, I must spend it only with you.”

Stung by the venom in Dean’s voice, Castiel flinched. But beneath the anger, he sensed an undercurrent of confusion that reminded him that this was all entirely foreign to Dean, that he was newly arrived to Arxelle and had no prior knowledge of their customs. With a deep inhale, he unclenched his fists and waved Dean towards the table. 

Dean followed him warily, only sitting when Castiel did and keeping his chair pulled away from the table as though ready to bolt for the door at a moment’s notice. “And now what? We sit here and stare past each other, saying nothing? That will go a long way towards deepening our bond, I’m sure.”

Castiel sighed, but willed himself to remain calm. Ignoring Dean’s bitter remarks, he asked, “What would you be doing, if we had been married in your land?”

Dean looked at him for a moment, and then blew out his breath in a noisy exhale. “We wouldn’t be sitting here glaring at each other,” he muttered. “We would be in the hall, surrounded by our people. There would be music and food and dancing and merriment of all sorts. We would celebrate this occasion.”

It all sounded rather extravagant to Castiel. “I see. We are somewhat more subdued, here.” A knock at the door interrupted him, and he rose to answer it, ushering Hannah and two other attendants inside. “We do have the feasting in common, even if it is a less public affair.”

It should not have been so endearing, the way Dean immediately brightened as he saw the attendants wheeling in trays of food. Delicious aromas wafted from the dishes as they set them on the table and then disappeared as quickly as they had arrived, leaving Castiel and Dean alone once more.

“I hope our food is to your taste,” Castiel said. Dean was already busily inspecting the range of dishes set before them, and judging by the way he piled a little bit of everything onto his plate, he was as hungry as Castiel was.

“I haven’t eaten since this morning.” Dean took a bite of the stew and made an appreciative noise. “I would enjoy just about anything right now.”

Castiel watched him for a moment before taking his own first bite. If nothing else, he now knew a way to calm Dean down: placate him with food. He had a feeling this weakness of Dean’s might prove very useful to him in the future. 

They ate in silence for a few minutes, and Dean relaxed further throughout the meal, the tension draining from the set of his shoulders and some colour returning to his face, which had been so drawn and pale earlier in the evening. He looked good here, in Castiel’s chambers, his robe moving every time he shifted to pick up his goblet of wine and drawing Castiel’s attention to his tattoos once more. Thoughtfully, he traced the new line around his own wrist, admiring the way it blended in so well with the others already there. 

Almost as though it was meant to be.

Castiel scoffed at his own sentimentality. What an absurd notion. The tattoo fit in well with the rest of his markings because Meg was skilled at what she did, nothing more. He took another sip of his wine, letting the rich taste linger on his tongue, enjoying the way the silence between he and Dean had grown more comfortable. It was a small thing, to share a companionable meal, but considering the rocky start to their marriage, it was progress, and Castiel was pleased with it.

But as they finished eating, Dean grew restless once more, tapping his hands against the arms of his chair and looking around the room. He drank two more glasses of wine in quick succession, and while Castiel admired the flush it brought to his cheeks, it worried him as well. 

Perhaps he could find a way to distract Dean, to bring back his earlier good mood. “And after the feasting, and the dancing, what then? If this were a wedding in your kingdom.”

Dean shrugged, his movements loosened by the wine. “It would continue well into the night. Eventually, the new couple would retire, receiving good wishes from the guests along the way. But the guests would spend most of the night in their revelry.”

“Ah.” Castiel fidgeted with his goblet. “I am sorry if this was not what you had imagined for your wedding. If we had more time, if we could have waited longer before ensuring you and Sam would be safe here, perhaps we might have tried to incorporate some of your customs into the celebration.”

“Would you?” Dean looked directly at him, but there was no anger in his gaze, only a faint wistfulness. “You are not fond of foreigners here, so why should you pay any respect to their--my-- customs?”

“As a mark of respect for you, of course.” Castiel would have to choose his words carefully. Dean was still slumped casually in his chair, but he was so mercurial, Castiel did not know what to expect from him. 

“Respect ought to be earned.” Dean drained the last of his wine and set his goblet down with a heavy thud. “I have done little to deserve it so far, from your or from your people.”

It was not quite an apology for his behaviour over the past few days, but it was still far more than Castiel had expected. “It’s early days yet,” he offered tentatively. “I was in a situation not dissimilar to yours, once. I never expected to be king. And when I first took the throne, I had no experience, no training, no preparation of any kind. But I have learned, over time, and so will you.”

Dean just shook his head wearily. “It’s not the same. I respect that you may have struggled with your sudden increase in status and power, but these are still your people. This is still your home, and it always has been. You had to earn their trust as a king, yes, but I must earn it as a man first, and a king second.”

He rose to his feet and turned away from Castiel, looking out the window. Silhouetted against the view of the night sky, he looked terribly small, both young and vulnerable in a way he had never seemed to Castiel until now. 

“To answer your earlier question, no, this was not what I imagined my wedding night would be like.” Dean didn’t turn around, directing his words to the window and not to Castiel. “But I do not regret it. Making the decision that I did. If it means Sam will live, if it means there is even the slightest chance that your healers will be able to save Jess…”

“Had you so little concern for your own life?” Emboldened by Dean’s honesty, Castiel stood and went to join him at the window. “Was that not a factor in your decision?”

Dean shrugged. “No. The minute I found out where Sam was going, the minute I understood what he had done, I was prepared to meet my death here.”

“That’s either very noble, or very stupid.” Castiel shook his head, marveling at the inconsistencies of this man. Such a child one moment, acting petulant about the responsibilities forced upon him, and then so baldly admitting he would have died in an attempt to rescue his brother. 

“Far worse has been said about me.” A hint of humour crept into Dean’s voice. “Will that impress them, do you think?” He waved a hand at the window, the city spread out below them.

“It impressed me.” The moment the words left his mouth, Castiel regretted giving voice to them. Dean turned to him, a look of surprise on his face, and took one small step back, whatever closeness had built between them destroyed in that instant.

Castiel bit his lip so fiercely he nearly drew blood. Curse his foolish words. Dean was watching him warily, clearly dismayed by Castiel’s expression of admiration for him. That was not what this was supposed to be. 

Dean said nothing, just stood there and watched Castiel, half his face illuminated by the moonlight and the other falling into shadow. Then he nodded decisively, and with one fluid movement, unravelled the top portion of his robe, leaving him bare to the waist.

Castiel let out a startled breath, eyes going wide. Dean stood proudly before him, his body well-honed and muscular, the lines of his tattoos stark against the smoothness of the rest of his skin. He raised one eyebrow at Castiel, but Castiel could not determine the question in his eyes, let alone the proper response to it.

“Well?” Though his posture was controlled, there was just a hint of a tremble in Dean’s voice. “It is our wedding night, is it not?”

“It is,” Castiel agreed, still unclear on how exactly they had arrived here.

“Then will you not come to bed, husband?” Dean took a step closer, looking up at Castiel from under lowered lashes, and like a shock of cold water, Castiel understood.

As ridiculous as it sounded, the physical aspect of being married had not crossed Castiel’s mind until now. He had been so focused on finding a way to ensure Sam and Dean’s survival, and then on planning the wedding, and then on trying to connect with Dean, that he had not considered how different their understandings of a wedding night might be.

Castiel swallowed roughly. Dean was standing so close he could nearly feel the warmth emanating from his skin, and Castiel felt an unfamiliar prickle of desire spreading through his body. But he shook his head, swiftly crossed the room, and found one of his nightshirts in the wardrobe, tossing it back to Dean.

Dean caught it instinctively, and though he glanced between it and Castiel, he said nothing as he turned away to pull it over his head, covering up all that shockingly bare skin. Then he let his ceremonial robe pool under his feet, leaving it in a graceless heap on the ground, and climbed into the bed, pointedly facing away from Castiel.

Scrubbing a weary hand over his face, Castiel changed into his own nightshirt and extinguished the lights, leaving only the moonlight filtering in from the windows to illuminate the room. He slid into the bed, which was so large they could have fit two more people between he and Dean. 

The tension between them grew thick enough to fill that space, however, and Castiel felt he might suffocate beneath it. “Is that customary, in Pellia?” he asked quietly.

Dean gave a bitter laugh, but did not turn to face him. “Is what customary? Sex? Yes, I rather think it is. What, do you people spring fully-formed from the mountains, carved out of it like your palace, beautiful but unfeeling?”

Ignoring the remark about being unfeeling, Castiel said, “No, of course not. But…desire, it is a distraction, nothing more.”

At that, Dean did turn to face him. “A distraction,” he repeated. “From what?”

“From the pursuit of wisdom.” Even as he spoke the words, Castiel wondered how they might sound to someone not raised in Arxelle. How very unwise they might seem.

And as he feared, Dean snorted with laughter. “I thought we were to deepen our bond this night.”

“Not like that!” Scandalized, his voice rang out shrilly in the quiet room. “The wedding night is spent alone, so that the newly bonded couple might focus solely on one another. To spend time with each other, learning about one another, sharing their lives and their knowledge.”

“And sex is not considered learning about one another?” Dean propped himself up on one elbow, his interest in the conversation seemingly outweighing his earlier offense. 

“No,” Castiel insisted. “Is it, for you?”

“By some.” Even in the moonlight, Castel could see Dean’s faint smile. “It is generally expected to follow upon a wedding, though. Provided both partners are desirous of it. It is often something they look forward to the most about being wed.” 

“How base.” For the second time that night, Castiel’s words escaped him unbidden, and this time, Dean’s reaction was even more severe. His entire body tensed, and he rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. 

He had offended him, Castiel knew, but on the basis of his kingdom’s customs, or on a more personal level? If being together in that way was something Dean had expected, he might be experiencing a feeling of rejection right now. 

But Castiel had been raised with little understanding of sexual intimacy, and no illusions about its place in a marriage. If there were children to be borne, then it was a necessity, but considering that he and Dean would need to find heirs not of their own blood, that would not be a factor in their relationship. Outside of that, it was rarely spoken of-- he knew members of his court had affairs amongst themselves, but for so long he had held himself distant from them, preferring to spend his time at his studies. 

Dean’s words echoed in his mind: _provided both partners are desirous of it._ Did that mean Dean desired him? Castiel felt a strange flutter in his chest at the thought. It was a heady thing, to feel wanted. But Dean had only accepted Castiel’s proposal under duress. How genuine could his desire be? Castiel would never wish to place further pressure on him. 

And of course, there was the matter of his own inexperience. Castiel had dealt with desire before, though only on rare occasions. He usually handled it in a perfunctory manner, then put it out of his mind and continued with his day. He had noticed Dean’s striking beauty immediately upon meeting him, of course, and earlier, when Dean had let his robe slip from his shoulders, Castiel had fought down the urge to reach out and touch him. This was all so new to him, and he feared if he made any attempt to understand it, it would only make things worse.

He did wish he could explain this to Dean, though. To make him understand why it caused so much confusion. Castiel turned over, peering across the bed at his husband. “Dean?”

There was no reply. Dean’s breathing was soft and even, and as Castiel leaned over to look more closely, he saw that Dean’s eyes were closed. While he had been berating himself for his words, Dean had fallen asleep.

With a sigh, Castiel turned over, arranging his pillow more comfortably under his head. Though he was unaccustomed to sharing his bed, he could not deny that it was pleasant, hearing Dean’s gentle breathing as he slept, feeling his presence despite the large space between them. Before long, Castiel’s eyes fluttered closed, and he joined Dean in slumber.

In the morning, Castiel woke to an empty bed.

He rubbed his bleary eyes, casting about the room. He finally located Dean, sitting at the table in his nightshirt, his hair mussed from sleep and deep lines around his mouth.

“Good morning.” Castiel sat up, the sheets pooling at his waist, but made no move to leave the bed. Something in Dean’s posture kept him where he was, kept him away.

At his words, Dean looked up and met his eyes. He nodded coolly, but offered no reply. Evidently, he was still upset by the events of the night before. Castiel could not fault him for that, but it meant he would have to be more delicate in his approach.

Before he could launch into an explanation that he hoped would also serve as an apology, Dean spoke. “I’d like to keep my own chamber.”

Castiel blinked at him. “What?”

“I’d like to keep my own chamber,” Dean repeated. “I need my own space. This--” he waved a hand around at Castiel’s chambers-- “this is your space. I would like my own.”

Twisting his hands in the sheet, Castiel nodded. “If that is what you want.”

“It is.” A bitter smile crept onto Dean’s face. “Your cat will be pleased.”

As if summoned, Nyx leapt up onto the bed, nestling into Castiel’s arms. He stroked her gently, unsure what else to say to Dean.

“I’m going to go see Sam, before he leaves.” Dean rose to his feet. “Unless there is to be some sort of public farewell?”

“No, I thought it best he be able to leave quickly and quietly,” Castiel replied.

Dean nodded. “Very well.”

And then he turned and crossed the chamber, making no further comment about what had transpired the night before, or about what he expected for the rest of the day. Castiel’s fingers tightened in Nyx’s fur and she nipped lightly at them, displeased by the rough treatment. 

“We have to make an appearance before the court this morning,” he called after Dean. “And you will be expected to do more than stand there. Or is that too much to ask of you?”

Dean’s shoulders stiffened, but he did not look back. “I’ll be there.” And then he slammed the door behind him, the noise echoing harshly off the walls. 

Castiel tossed his pillow across the room, groaning in frustration. Nyx went chasing after it, but even her antics could not bring a smile to his face. Dean was so completely, positively _infuriating_. Every time Castiel thought they had made some progress, Dean knocked him back again. 

Well. If Dean refused to cooperate, so be it. Castiel could not save him from himself. He would soon learn the difficulties of ruling, the importance of keeping an even temper and a polite smile in place. And in the meantime, he could have his own chamber. They would present a united front in public, and that would be all.

But as Castiel looked back at the other side of the bed, he could not help but wonder what it might be like to have more than that.


	6. Chapter 6

Saying goodbye to Sam was one of the hardest things Dean had ever done.

After a quick visit to his own room to change his clothes, he found Sam in his chamber, packing the last of his few belongings into his worn leather satchel. Sam was dressed in new clothing, similar in style to their Arxellian garments but in softer, lighter fabrics. “Travel wear,” he explained, catching Dean’s inquisitive look. “They’ve spared no comfort for me.”

That was generous of the Arxellians. Were he in a better mood, Dean would thank them for it. As it was, he was too focused on the fact that Sam was leaving to have any charitable thoughts towards his new people. 

Dean perched on the edge of Sam’s bed. “Have you met the healers who will be going with you?”

Sam shook his head. “Not yet. I’m to meet them in the courtyard shortly. I’m nearly ready to depart.”

“Right.” Dean looked around the room, out the window, anywhere but at Sam. 

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was soft, but something in it tugged at Dean. He slowly raised his eyes to meet his brother’s gaze, wincing at the sorrow there. “I don’t want to leave you here.”

“You have to.” Dean got to his feet, clasping Sam by the shoulder. “You have a chance to save Jess, Sam. These healers, maybe they can help. It’s more than we could ever have hoped for.”

“But at what cost?” Sam peered intently at Dean, as though checking him for any signs of distress. “Your husband. Did he-- did he treat you well?”

There was a faint flush in Sam’s cheeks that betrayed the exact nature of his question. Inwardly, Dean gave a bitter laugh. No, he would not say that Castiel’s absolute coldness, his disgust at the very thought of any sort of physical intimacy with Dean, would be considered treating him well. But he had not hurt Dean, which was clearly Sam’s concern.

“He did.” Dean gave Sam what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “It may take us some time to truly grow accustomed to one another, but I am not suffering here, Sam. I believe I can do exactly what I was raised to do: rule.”

“I can’t help but feel like my happiness comes at the expense of yours.” Sam swallowed heavily. “I could stay. I could send the healers back to Pellia, have them see to Jess, but not leave you alone here.”

“No.” Dean made his voice as firm as he could. “The kingdom needs you, Sam. If I am here, you are best-trained to take up the position of heir. Jo would be successful, but it would take time. You have much to return home for, and many people who need you.”

Sam made a face at that, but Dean could tell that he had won, hollow victory though it was. “You’ll write to us?” Sam asked, eyes pleading. “As often as possible.”

“Of course,” Dean assured him. “And remember, I’m not forbidden to leave Arxelle. It would be ill-advised of me to leave so soon after becoming a citizen, but perhaps later, if my duties permit, I could come home. To visit.”

“I would like that very much.” Sam gave him a tremulous smile. “We all would.”

“It’s settled, then.” Dean squeezed Sam’s shoulder once more, then picked up his satchel. “I’ll see you off.”

They made their way through the quiet corridors, only a few Arxellians passing them as they went, offering polite nods that turned to whispers immediately. Dean smiled back, aware that his time as one of them had begun. He could not afford to alienate them now.

It was not difficult to identity the healers once they reached the courtyard. Both women wore long, draped tunics of deepest scarlet, slit up the sides to reveal tan trousers below. Beside them stood a young man in light grey garb, which Dean recognized as the uniform of the royal messengers. Four horses waited patiently beside them, the largest of them clearly intended for Sam.

“Good morning,” Sam greeted them, giving a half-bow. “I am Prince Sam of Pellia. Thank you for volunteering to accompany me.”

One of the women raised an eyebrow at that. “We did not volunteer,” she corrected. “We were requested to accompany you, and as our vocation requires us to help those in need, we agreed.”

“Billie.” The other healer laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “That’s enough.” She turned to Sam with a wry smile on her face. “You will come to appreciate her candour in time, I swear. I am Pamela, and this is my partner, Billie. And our companion, Ion, will act as our messenger, should we need to send word back to the palace.”

“It is an honour to meet you.” Sam gave them another bow, lower this time. 

Dean cleared his throat. “I thank you as well, and wish you good fortune on your travels. If there is anything you require, anything at all, you simply have to ask.” He did not know what was and what wasn’t within his power to grant, at this point, but he did not care. These women were going to help save Jess, and anything they asked of him, he would do his best to provide.

“We have everything we need.” Billie gave him a cool look, then nodded. “We should be on our way.” 

She and Pamela mounted their horses with ease, clearly waiting for Sam to join them. Dean stepped forward and embraced his brother tightly, any words he might have wished to speak sticking in his throat. After a moment, Sam stepped back, pushing his hair out of his face with a shaky hand.

“I will see you soon,” he said.

“Yes.” Dean nodded. “Safe travels, Sam. Give all my love to-- to everyone at home.”

Sam let out a deep breath, then swung himself up into his saddle. They trotted away across the bridge, Sam turning to give one last wave, and then were lost to sight behind the gate. 

“Your Grace?”

It took Dean a moment to realize he was the one being addressed. He turned, startled, and met the nervous eyes of a young man in the uniform of the palace attendants. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. But it is time to dress for court.”

“Of course.” Dean took a last look at the bridge, imagining Sam riding through the city streets, likely charming both his companions already. Then he turned back to the attendant. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe we have met.”

“My name is Kevin, and I have been assigned as your personal attendant.” He gave a brief bow. “I hope I will be suitable for the task.”

He looked so nervous, Dean thought he might faint. So he summoned his most reassuring smile and said, “I am sure that you will be.”

Kevin relaxed slightly at his words, but still beckoned Dean back towards the palace. Instead of taking the same route Dean and Sam had recently travelled, he led Dean towards a small door just inside the entrance chamber and nodded cordially at the guard stationed there, who snapped to attention at the sight of Dean.

“The private hallways are now yours to use,” Kevin explained. “To allow you to move through the palace unnoticed.”

While Dean appreciated the efficiency of it, he did not approve of hiding from one’s subjects. What was the point of these elaborate court sessions if the rulers fled from them as soon as possible, giving only that limited time and space to their people? 

Also, it would make it far more difficult for him to learn his way around the palace if he had two sets of corridors to memorize. “Is there a map of them I might consult?” he asked. “I would not like to miss an appearance due to getting myself lost back here.”

He caught a faint hint of a smile around Kevin’s lips and grinned to himself, pleased. Much like the temple attendants, it appeared Kevin could be won over with humour. 

“I will have one sent to your chambers,” Kevin said, “though you will usually have an escort as well. Either myself, or a guard.”

Dean thought of the guards he had met so far and grimaced. Considering the way he had arrived in this land, they were none too fond of him. Perhaps he could persuade Kevin to do most of the escorting.

“You know your way around the palace well, then?” he asked.

“Quite well,” Kevin assured him. “I have lived here my entire life. My mother is in charge of overseeing all the daily operations of the palace.” His voice rang with pride, and Dean smiled at the way his shoulders straightened as he spoke.

“And your father?”

“He was a nobleman, but he died long ago. I have no memory of him.” Kevin’s voice turned quiet, and Dean cursed himself for bringing up painful memories. He laid a gentle hand on Kevin’s shoulder in commiseration and said nothing more as they continued along the corridor.

Kevin stopped in front of a plain wooden door and pushed it open, revealing Dean’s chamber. How he had never noticed that door before, Dean could not say. Another marvel of this land and its people, he supposed. Their ingenuity was unsurpassed. 

But if only they would give up these damnable robes. Kevin quickly had Dean strip off his clothing, appraising him with clinical eyes and digging through the wardrobe while muttering furiously to himself. He eventually produced a long swath of soft green fabric, holding it up for Dean’s inspection. “Will this suit, Your Grace?”

“You would know better than I.” Dean shrugged, resisting the urge to cover himself. If Kevin was to be his attendant from now on, he would have to adjust to being bare before him eventually. “I trust your judgment.”

Kevin nodded, then began wrapping the robe around Dean’s body. As much as he disliked the garment, even he could admit it paired beautifully with the colours of his new tattoos. And when Kevin produced a thin gold circlet set with a brilliant topaz stone, Dean made no protest. The cool metal settled against his brow, reminding Dean of his purpose here. This was the mantle he had accepted when he accepted Castiel’s hand. This was what he was born to do.

“How long do these court sessions normally last?” Dean had witnessed one, his first day here in Arxelle. But he gathered that had not been a typical day. 

“A few hours,” Kevin answered. “Sometimes longer, if there is a particularly controversial issue to be discussed.”

“And after that?” What else was expected of him, Dean did not know. He thought it best to be prepared. 

Kevin shrugged. “We go about our days.”

That was not particularly helpful. Dean frowned at him. “What does the king normally do after court?”

“I cannot say. I don’t see him often.” Kevin made a few last adjustments to the folds of Dean’s robe, then stepped back and gave a satisfied nod. “Perfect.”

Dean looked down at himself and sighed. He would have to walk carefully to avoid tripping again. Perhaps his first order of business as king would be to set new fashions.

“Come along, Your Grace.” Kevin crossed the room and held open the door to the private corridors. “We do not wish to be late.”

“You keep a tight schedule,” Dean commented. “I do not think I could ever be late with you around.”

Flushing slightly, Kevin ducked his head. “That is what I am here for.”

“And you’re doing very well.” Dean patted his shoulder encouragingly. Kevin gave him a grateful smile, then set off towards the Grand Hall. Dean did his best to make note of the turns they took, but he would still be grateful for a map of these passages. 

Kevin paused in front of another plain door. He signaled to Dean to wait, and mere seconds later, they heard footsteps approaching from the other end of the hall. Dean straightened up, knowing immediately who was coming their way, and met Castiel’s eyes as he rounded the corner.

He was dressed in a robe of softest lavender, a silver circlet around his brow. He looked distant as ever, but he gave Dean a reasonably polite nod as he approached, which Dean returned. He understood that signal immediately: at least for now, they must present a cordial, united front. 

So it was Dean who extended his hand and allowed Castiel to clasp it as Kevin pushed open the door, the two of them entering the Grand Hall together for the first time.

It was strange, seeing it from this angle. All those faces turned towards them, illuminated by the light globes overhead. Dean took small steps, paying close attention as he and Castiel climbed onto the dais and took their seats. In the few days since Dean had last been in this room, a second throne had been added, and he noted with no small amount of smugness that it was exactly the same as Castiel’s. 

Once they had settled, Castiel dropped his hand from Dean’s and raised it to greet the crowd. “May the light of wisdom shine ever upon you,” he said. “Thank you for joining us this morning. The past few days have been eventful, to say the least, and so we welcome any opinions or views you may wish to share concerning these recent changes.”

Knowing the Arxellians would not hesitate to make their voices known immediately, Dean spoke up before they could begin. “Good morning,” he said, ignoring Castiel’s narrowed eyes. “As this is my first time attending a meeting like this, and my first time encountering many of you, might I trouble you all for a small favour?” He paused, watching the looks of confusion creep onto the faces in the crowd, then continued. “Before you join the discussion, might you introduce yourself? There are so many of you I do not yet know, and I wish to remedy that as soon as possible.”

He flashed his most charming smile, gratified to see a few answering smiles from the court. Castiel gave him a sidelong look but said nothing, for which Dean was grateful. 

A slender woman stepped forward, inclining her head graciously towards Dean and Castiel. “I am Lady Bela,” she said. “And I would like to personally welcome you here, Your Grace.”

There was a purr in her voice that Dean knew all too well. Perhaps he had laid the charm on slightly too thick. So he kept his tone neutral as he replied, “Thank you, Lady Bela.”

“However,” she continued, “I would like to ask why two of our best healers are suddenly absent from the infirmaries. I have been informed that they will not return for some time.”

A low murmur ran through the room at her words, and Dean winced. Apparently, the court had not been made aware of the specifics of the marriage negotiations between he and Castiel.

He cast a dark look at his new husband and whispered, “You may handle this one.”

Castiel’s eyes tightened, but he nodded. “A fair question,” he replied, raising his voice to be heard throughout the room. “Pamela and Billie were chosen to escort Prince Sam back to his home, where his betrothed lies gravely ill. They have been instructed to provide the best of care, and will return when they are able. In the meantime, we have many other healers who can tend to your headaches, Lady Bela.”

Judging by the coldness in his voice, Castiel did not like Lady Bela very much. But then again, Castiel was always cold. 

“You should have sent one of them, and left the other here.” This speaker, Dean remembered. Lord Bartholomew. “If any of us have an emergency medical situation, we deserve the best care.”

“May I remind you that Prince Sam is now my brother, and therefore a member of my family, as is his betrothed. Do they not also deserve the best care?” Castiel’s tone was mild, but Dean could see his hands clench beneath the folds of his robe. 

Lord Bartholomew scowled, but said nothing further. The silence did not last long, however, as another richly dressed man stepped forward to make his voice heard.

“I am Lord Raphael,” he said, giving Dean the briefest of bows. “And while I do agree that any of our royal family deserve nothing less than the best healers we have to offer, I also believe we ought to have been consulted before this decision was made.”

At least this Raphael presented himself calmly and rationally. Dean inclined his head in acknowledgment of the point. “I understand your concerns,” he said. “But my brother was eager to return home, as I’m sure any of you would be if someone you loved was ill and you had a chance to aid them.”

“Of course, of course.” Raphael nodded gravely. “I only make the point that we hold these court sessions exactly for the purposes of such decision-making, and that in the future, it would be best to remember that. For now, we must hope that Billie and Pamela will be able to assist in whatever way they can.”

Dean opened his mouth to thank Raphael for his consideration, but was interrupted by another speaker. His robes hung in awkward folds, and when he spoke, Dean flinched back from the grating tone of his voice.

“How do we know that Billie and Pamela will return to us?” His eyes gleamed with a light that made Dean deeply uneasy. “If they do assist Prince Sam’s betrothed, who can guarantee that the Pellians will allow them to leave?”

Dean started to rise, furious words springing to his lips, but Castiel pressed a warning hand to his shoulder and kept him in his seat, responding to the outrageous claim himself. “That is naught but wild conjecture, Lord Metatron.” 

Lord Metatron, who Dean now already intensely disliked, crossed his arms over his chest and glared at them. “You cannot know that. Perhaps this was the young prince’s plan all along, to steal our best healers and keep them for Pellia!”

Completely ignoring Castiel’s hand holding him back, Dean stood. “Lord Metatron, is it?” He fought to keep his tone as civil as possible. “You may not know much about my home kingdom, and I do not blame you for that. We are a small land, of no particular renown. Not like Arxelle. But perhaps due to that, we must set ourselves apart in other ways. And one thing that brings me great pride is the way we treat our guests.”

He chose his next words carefully, not wanting to appear ungrateful that he had, after all, not been executed for trespassing here. “Anyone who enters Pellia in the spirit of friendship is treated as a most honored guest. As healers, Billie and Pamela will be accorded the highest respect. And whether they are able to save Jess or not, they will be permitted to leave whenever they determine their mission to be accomplished, and will be thanked for their efforts until then.”

Lord Metatron continued to scowl at him, but whatever else he had to say, he kept to himself. There were a few cautious glances thrown in Dean’s direction after his speech, but just as many were intrigued, and others downright admiring. If nothing else, he had made an impression this day.

“Are there any other further comments?” Castiel looked around the hall, but was met only with silence. “Very well. We shall reconvene tomorrow. Go with good fortune.”

He offered his hand to Dean once more, but Dean shook his head and quickly rose to his feet. “It’s a beautiful day,” he said, his best smile back in place. “I believe I will take a turn in the gardens I have been admiring these past few days. If any of you wish to make my acquaintance, you may come find me there. I would be happy to share my time with you.”

Waving cheerily, Dean climbed down from the dais. Castiel trailed after him, shoulders stiff, and the minute the door to the private corridor swung closed behind them, he rounded on Dean.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes sparking. 

Dean set his jaw and mimicked his stance. “I am getting to know my new subjects.”

“It will not work.” Castiel’s frown deepened. “This friendly approach of yours, it is not customary here. We hold court to interact with the people. Anything more than that is unnecessary.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Dean shook his head in disbelief. “How do you expect to rule the people if you do not know the people?”

“I know them well enough.” Castiel rolled his eyes. “We all have other matters to concern ourselves with. They need little actual supervision. We are all quite content to be left alone.”

“I think you will find otherwise.” Dean hesitated for a moment, then sighed, letting his arms fall back to his sides. “Do you wish to join me?”

Castiel gave him a long look. “No,” he said eventually. “You do as you see fit, Dean. I will not interfere with how you choose to spend your time. But may I remind you that this is not Pellia.” He shook his head once more, then turned his back on Dean.

“As if I had any chance of forgetting it,” Dean muttered under his breath. He saw Castiel’s shoulders stiffen, but he did not pause. 

Turning back to Kevin, who hovered just out of earshot, Dean said, “Now, how do we access the gardens from here?”

He would show Castiel. No matter how different some of their traditions might be, people were people. The Arxellians would naturally be curious about Dean, just as he was curious about them. They would come to assess him, to pass judgment on him, to acquire tidbits of gossip they could spread to others, but they would come. And in turn, they would reveal themselves to Dean, so that he might better understand them.

And if Castiel was the only Arxellian who continued to hold himself apart from Dean, then so be it. Dean might be king because of him, but he could be a _good_ king without him easily enough.


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel was not sulking.

He was not. Sulking was for scolded children or jealous lovers or students who had failed to impress their masters, not for kings who had been roundly dismissed by their new husbands and proven wrong by their court at large.

But when he retreated to his chambers after his first joint court appearance with Dean and looked down on the garden to see a gaggle of courtiers trailing after him, Castiel turned aside with a huff. So he had been wrong. Dean had been right. Why did that bother him so greatly?

Castiel took another look out the window, noting even from this distance the way Dean bent courteously towards those speaking to him, the way he gesticulated with his hands as he spoke. As he finished speaking to one young woman, Castiel caught the dazed smile on her face as she curtsied to Dean and turned away, practically running back to her friends. 

It only soured Castiel’s mood further. He closed the heavy curtains and stripped off his robe, exchanging it for the looser tunic and trousers he preferred to wear when he did not have to appear in public. He took a moment to pet Nyx, who was curled up in the centre of his bed, and then exited his chambers. Despite having only spent one night there, Dean’s presence seemed to have seeped into the very structure of the room, and Castiel could not breathe in its air without being reminded of him. 

Nor could he seek refuge in the gardens, as he had been known to do in the past. Scowling, Castiel turned further inwards along the private corridors.

The library was possibly Castiel’s favourite room in the palace, perhaps his favourite place in the entire kingdom. Though not as large or well-stocked as the one at the Royal University, it was nevertheless an important centre of learning, and a place Castiel had always been able to find peace.

Rachel and the other librarians paid him no mind. They had grown accustomed to his presence in their space when he was just a young prince, fifth in line for the throne. Before Gabriel became a temple attendant, before Anna’s magic developed, before Michael and Lucien’s feuding turned deadly. Now, Castiel was king, but the librarians cared little, so long as he did not interrupt their work.

He wandered idly through the aisles, running his hands over the spines of familiar tomes. He found a few he had not seen before and made a mental note to return to them later. He needed something distracting, or so he thought, until another idea crossed his mind. It was unlikely he would be able to stop himself from thinking about Dean, even here, but perhaps he could make his thoughts more productive.

The section on the history and practices of other kingdoms was quite small. Frowning, Castiel located one slim volume on Pellia and pulled it from the shelf. At least it seemed quite recent. His favourite reading nook was on the second floor of the library, where the palace joined with the mountain behind it. There was a comfortable armchair tucked into a natural curve in the rock face, and Castiel settled in there, flipping open the book.

He traced his fingers over the map that spread across the interior cover. Pellia was, geographically speaking, quite close to Arxelle. And yet Castiel knew so little about the other kingdom. Well, this was his chance to change that. 

The book kept him captivated for most of the afternoon. Castiel learned that Pellia was a relatively small kingdom, mainly farmland and small villages with only the capital as a true city. They relied heavily on trade with other kingdoms and did not often engage in military ventures, though they did maintain a standing army in case of possible invasion. Their line of succession had been unbroken for centuries, and they often married outside of the kingdom to strengthen alliances. 

A strange thought crossed Castiel’s mind: in another life, one in which he had not become king, might he have been married to Dean regardless? A prince with no chance of inheriting his own throne, sent to Pellia to rule there? What might their marriage have been like if Castiel were the one adrift in a new land?

It sent a small pang of guilt through him, imagining that scenario. For all his frustration with Dean, he ought to have more patience with him. But Dean made it so difficult, constantly challenging Castiel, never letting them settle into any sort of companionable conversation. If he did, perhaps Castiel would not have to turn to a book in order to learn about his husband’s former home.

Scowling, as he so often did when thinking about Dean, Castiel continued reading. Towards the end of the book was what he had been especially looking forward to: a section on Pellia’s recent history.

_Shortly after taking the throne, Queen Mary scandalized the people of Pellia by announcing her intention to marry a man not of royal blood. John Winchester was the son of respected merchants and wealthy in his own right, but his house was not a noble one. Upon meeting him, however, and seeing the love between he and their queen, the people came to embrace John. Two years after their wedding, their first son, Prince Dean, was born, followed by Prince Sam four years later. Mary and John ruled wisely and well for many years, until a swift and severe ailment claimed the Queen’s life when Prince Dean was only twelve years old. Since then, King John has ruled alone, gradually giving more and more power to his advisory council._

Castiel closed the book, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against its cover. He remembered what Sam had said, when they first discussed the possibility of a marriage: that their family had a history of choosing unconventional partners. This must have been what he meant. By this account, Dean’s parents had made a love-match, an uncommon thing for monarchs. Castiel’s own parents had never seemed to particularly enjoy each other’s company, or the company of their children. What must it have been like for Dean, growing up in a family in more than name?

It would be a terrible thing to lose, that closeness. First his mother’s death, then his father’s withdrawal. Small wonder Dean had risked everything to follow Sam here, even knowing the potential cost to them both. Such a brave, foolish thing to do. There was so much to admire about Dean-- if only he didn’t annoy Castiel so much. 

Castiel rose, stretching out his neck and shoulders, which were stiff from sitting for so long. He wandered down to the lower level and put the book back on the shelf. It wasn’t until he rounded the corner and looked out the tall windows that he realized how much time had passed. The sun had already set, and as if on cue, his stomach rumbled loudly. Rachel looked up from her desk at the noise, giving him a stern look for interrupting the stillness of the room. Castiel dipped his head in apology and hurried to exit.

While he was happy to have learned so much about Dean’s kingdom and its history, he could not shake the feeling that he had gone about acquiring that information in the wrong way. Faced with such a situation, most people would take the reasonable course of action and simply _ask_ their spouse about their background. But no, Castiel consulted a book instead.

Shaking his head at his own folly, Castiel made his way through the corridors towards the guest quarters, where Dean insisted on staying. As he entered the quiet passageway, Victor appeared from wherever he had been posted and followed behind, unobtrusive as ever. Castiel knocked lightly on Dean’s chamber door, swallowing down his nerves. The door swung open, but it was not Dean standing on the other side.

“Your Grace.” The attendant’s eyes went wide, and he bowed hastily. “Forgive me. I was not expecting--”

“It’s alright,” Castiel said gently, searching his brain for the young man’s name. Kevin, he thought. He was young, and perhaps overly eager, but Hannah had personally recommended him for the post. “Is King Dean here?”

Kevin cast a nervous look over his shoulder and into the chamber beyond. “He is,” he admitted, “but he does not wish to be disturbed.”

“Oh.” Somehow, Castiel had not expected that. “I only wished to ask if he had already dined, or if he would like to join me while I do so.”

“I will inquire.” Kevin gave another bow and then closed the door in Castiel’s face. Politely, but firmly. He was unused to such treatment, and for a moment it angered him, but then he remembered that though he might be king, he was no longer the only king. Dean’s station was equal to his, and if he did not wish to see Castiel, then so be it.

He waited, impatiently tapping his foot against the floor, until the door opened again. “His Grace does not wish to be disturbed,” Kevin repeated, not meeting Castiel’s eyes. “He thanks you for the invitation, though.”

Castiel bit back a scathing reply. It was not Kevin’s fault that Dean was so stubborn. “Thank you, Kevin,” he said. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Your Grace.” Kevin gave another bow, then closed the door again, much more softly this time. Castiel stared at it for a long moment, then turned away.

“He should not treat you so,” Victor muttered as they made their way back to Castiel’s chamber. “He has no right to be so rude. At the very least, he could have come to the door himself.”

While Castiel privately agreed, he did not wish to encourage any ill-will between Victor and Dean. So he merely shrugged and said, “It is of little consequence to me. I am accustomed to dining alone.”

“I know, Your Grace. But the point of being married is that you need not be alone.” There was something gentle in Victor’s tone, an indication that he meant far more than just sharing a meal. 

Pausing outside his chamber door, Castiel reached out and squeezed Victor’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said. “Will you have Hannah ask the kitchen to send something up? Nothing too heavy.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Victor saluted, the very picture of an efficient and well-trained guard. “Right away.”

The food was delicious as ever, but Castiel only picked at it. Another opportunity lost. Dean had opened up considerably during their shared meal the night before, and Castiel had been hoping to repeat the experience. Was Dean avoiding everyone after a long day spent getting to know his new subjects, or was he specifically avoiding Castiel? 

Pushing aside his plate, Castiel took his glass of wine and stepped out onto the balcony. This was his favourite time to observe the palace and the city beyond. Most other residents of the palace had already retreated to their beds for the evening, so he could enjoy the view in peace.

Or so he thought. A flash of movement drew his attention downwards, and he looked over to see a figure emerge onto a balcony a few levels down. Dean. Of course. Tamping down his annoyance, Castiel lifted a hand, catching Dean’s eye.

“Hello,” he called. He could have ignored him. Could have waved and said nothing. But Castiel was determined to make an effort. Or at the very least, to prove as much an irritation to Dean as Dean did to him. Sometimes the two went hand-in-hand. 

Much to Castiel’s surprise, Dean lifted a hand in greeting. “Hello,” he replied. No particular warmth to his voice, but less hostility than Castiel might have anticipated.

As much as he wanted to continue the conversation, it was not really the time or place to do so. They had to raise their voices to be heard across the distance between them, and Dean did not seem particularly inclined to say much else.

Castiel waited a few more minutes, then sighed. Dean continued to gaze out over the city, content to ignore Castiel’s presence, just as he had been earlier that evening. There was little to be done about it, so Castiel called out, “Good night, Dean,” and turned to return inside.

With his hand on the door, he heard Dean’s reply. “Good night, Castiel.” And if it caused a soft smile to steal onto Castiel’s face, well, there was no one to witness it.

Encouraged by their cordial, if brief, conversation the night before, Castiel made his way towards the Grand Hall with more enthusiasm than usual. He rounded the corner, his greeting dying on his lips when he took in the sight of Dean waiting for him.

He was not wearing his robes, but rather an outfit similar to the one Castiel had worn the day before, a long tunic over tight trousers. While Castiel himself preferred the freedom of movement afforded by such garments, the robes were traditional for court appearances. 

Castiel scowled at Dean. “What on earth are you wearing?”

Dean gave him a bright grin, resting his hands on the belt around his waist. “Something that won’t trip me as I try to get to my throne.”

“The robes are cumbersome, I know, but they are an important--”

Waving a hand in the air, Dean cut him off. “Kevin already gave me that speech. Clearly, it did not deter me.”

From behind him, Kevin made a small noise, his eyes huge with guilt as he glanced at Castiel. “I appreciate your efforts, Kevin,” Castiel said, his voice tight. “I know how recalcitrant King Dean can be, and I do not fault you for it.”

Dean snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. With the way his trousers clung to his legs and the belt emphasizing the narrowness of his hips, it only served to make his shoulders appear broader. Irritation and jealousy bubbled in Castiel’s chest, along with something else he refused to acknowledge. Dean had kept the circlet, Castiel noticed. Of course he had, the vain man. 

“Would you rather I present myself before the court wearing this, or would you rather I return to my chambers and change into something more suitable?” Dean’s grin returned, sharper and slyer than before. “Of course, then I would be late, and I don’t gather that’s a desirable outcome.”

“Change, don’t change. I care not,” Castiel muttered, brushing past him. “If you feel it is necessary to show off your calves in order to get people to like you, that is your failing, not mine.”

Judging by the way Dean’s grin slid off his face, Castiel had scored a hit. Dean opened his mouth to say something else, but Kevin laid a gentle hand on his arm, and he subsided. Head held high, Castiel followed after Dean into the Grand Hall.

There was little to discuss that morning, other than the usual complaints about more light globes being needed in the library (which Castiel agreed with) and the request to have an underground passage built between the palace and the temple (which Castiel did not agree with). He dealt with them the same way he always did, and was surprised to see that Dean did little other than echo his statements. 

Once Castiel dismissed the court, though, a sudden change came over Dean, like the parting of clouds to reveal clear blue skies. He climbed down from the dais with a bounce in his step that Castiel grudgingly admitted he would not be able to manage in his robes. And instead of wandering off their separate ways, more than half the courtiers moved to the front of the room, clustering around him.

Castiel sat alone on his throne, hands clenched tightly at his sides. Dean turned to look over his shoulder, his face smug. No wonder he had felt little need to contribute during the official session. All his sycophants were waiting to speak to him in private, away from Castiel. 

Dean threw an arm about Lord Samandriel and led his pack of admirers out towards the gardens. Castiel watched them go, debating following after them. Dean had invited him to do so the day before. It was not a stretch to imagine the offer would still stand today. But Castiel’s pride kept him in his seat long after they had disappeared, and only when the Grand Hall was empty did he rise.

It had been a long time since he had stood before the dais and gazed at it from this angle. It looked strange, now, with two thrones upon it. Castiel could barely remember when both his parents sat here, day after day, listening to their subjects. He had been too young to attend court on a daily basis. Only on important occasions were all the royal children trotted out and lined up in the first row. The king and queen had always seemed so distant, so regal, but so harmonious in the way they dealt with the court. Castiel wondered what sort of picture he and Dean made, sitting there together. 

A mismatched one today, that was for certain. How was it that Castiel had dutifully attended court all these years and never once thought of simply not wearing the robes he despised so much? Dean had only lasted one session before deciding enough was enough. Perhaps that was the luxury of an outside view: the ability to see which traditions were necessary, and which could be done away with. 

Castiel wandered through the Hall, brushing his hand lightly over the tapestries that lined the walls, each depicting an important moment in Arxellian history. He knew the story shown in each one, and also the story of the artist who had woven it, and whose reign it had been commissioned during, and which portions were original and which had been repaired-- all of it useless information, really. It was unlikely he would ever be quizzed on it, or draw on it to solve a problem in his own time.

Sighing heavily, he completed his circuit of the room and made his way back towards the dais, where Victor stood waiting for him. His expression was neutral as ever, but Castiel could tell by his posture that he had something to say.

“Speak freely, Captain.” Castiel waved a hand at the empty room. “I do not believe we are in danger of being overheard.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Victor’s lips. “All left for greener pastures,” he commented. “The fascination will wear off soon enough, Your Grace.”

“Perhaps,” Castiel commented. “But I doubt that is what you wished to discuss.”

“As a matter of fact, it is.” Victor hesitated for a moment, then forged ahead. “We have guards stationed at the entrance to the gardens, but if King Dean insists on continuing these public walks of his, I think it would be best to assign a guard to him on a more permanent measure.”

Frowning, Castiel sat at the foot of the dais, waving at Victor to join him. Their roles as king and guard slipped away, leaving behind two men who had been friends for many, many years. “You think he is in danger?”

Victor shrugged, his unease clear. Castiel trusted his judgment on most things, and if he believed there was cause for concern, Castiel would believe it as well.

“Not necessarily,” Victor said after a long pause. “For now, the people seem intrigued by him. But he is already challenging our ways, and what happens when he goes too far?”

It was a valid question, one that Dean himself had raised when they first considered this marriage. Slowly, Castiel nodded. “Do you have someone in mind?”

“I do. She’s young, and she doesn’t look like much, but she’s sharp and quick and her instincts are excellent. King Dean appears to be a fighting man, so my concern is more with seeing an attack coming than with stopping one already in progress.”

“I will propose the idea to Dean.” Castiel grimaced. “I suspect he will not like it.”

“I suspect the same,” Victor said with a wry laugh. “That’s why I told you first.”

“So kind of you.” Castiel rolled his eyes and climbed to his feet. “Ought I go join them in the gardens, do you think? Plead my case with all the others?”

Victor snorted inelegantly. “Only if you plan to bat your eyelashes and giggle like a youth in their first springtime. I swear, half the courtiers were walking about in a daze after their turn in the garden with the new king.”

What a disturbing image. Castiel shuddered at the very thought of being reduced to such foolish behaviour. “I shall wait for a more opportune moment, I think,” he decided.

“Of course, Your Grace.” Victor bowed and inclined his head towards the door. “Back to your chambers, then?”

“Yes, I think so.” He would find some way to occupy himself while Dean strolled through the gardens charming the courtiers, and unlike the day before, Castiel would not lose track of time. If he was going to convince Dean that he needed a personal guard, it would probably be best to suggest the idea when he was well-fed.

Once settled back in his chambers, Castiel dispatched an attendant to have the kitchens begin preparations for a meal for he and Dean, then sent Hannah to speak to Kevin and extend the invitation to Dean. Hopefully, Dean would acquiesce. If he did not-- well, it would be a terrible waste of a meal, for one thing. 

He did not have to wait long before Hannah returned. “Well?” he asked as he opened the door to her. More brusque than he ought to be, he admitted, but he was tense with anticipation, wondering if all his efforts would be for naught.

Thankfully, a satisfied smile spread across Hannah’s face. “His Grace will be delighted to join you this evening, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Hannah,” Castiel said, exhaling with relief. “You may go.”

There was little else to do but wait, so Castiel amused himself playing with Nyx until the sun began to sink in the sky, signaling that he ought to change for dinner. He could have asked for Hannah’s assistance, but he felt, strangely, that it was important to present the most honest version of himself for this meal. It was a peace offering, of sorts, and judging by the fact that Dean had accepted the invitation, he knew it as well.

So Castiel chose an outfit similar to the one Dean had worn to court that morning, but in shades of blue and grey instead. He debated between his various circlets and decided it might send too imperious a message to wear one, opting to leave his forehead bare. There was a nervous flutter in his chest as he paced about the room, waiting for Dean’s arrival.

Just as the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, a knock sounded on the door. Straightening his tunic, Castiel pulled it open to reveal Dean standing there, a polite smile on his face. “Good evening, Dean,” Castiel said.

“Good evening, Castiel.” Dean’s voice was as polite as his smile, and he dismissed Kevin with a wave, stepping into the chamber and closing the door behind him.

“Thank you for agreeing to join me.” Castiel hated how stiff he sounded, but since most of his conversations with Dean tended to dissolve into yelling, he supposed stiff was the more preferable option.

“Of course.” Dean seated himself smoothly at the table, only betraying a hint of nerves when Nyx prowled around him, hissing lightly. “Ah, I see we are not alone for this meal.”

“I won’t have her sent away.” Castiel crossed his arms over his chest, already regretting this idea.

But then Dean looked up at him, and for the first time, Castiel noted the weariness in his eyes. “Must everything be a battle between us?” he asked softly. “I was not suggesting you choose between me and your cat, for pity’s sake.”

“Oh.” Flushing, Castiel uncrossed his arms and dropped into the chair across from Dean. “I-- may have overreacted.”

Dean’s lips curled up in a smile that was only slightly sardonic. “Only a little.”

They were interrupted by the attendants arriving with the food, and for the next few minutes, they busied themselves filling their plates and taking the first bites. Just as Castiel hoped, Dean seemed to relax the longer he sat there, giving him the opportunity to slowly raise the matter he and Victor had discussed earlier that day.

“How was your afternoon in the gardens?” Castiel asked, doing his best to make it sound like he had no ulterior motive in asking. Casual conversation, that was all. 

“Surprisingly informative,” Dean said, taking a swallow of his wine before continuing. “Did you know that Lord Samandriel turned eighteen today? He’s a good lad.”

“He is,” Castiel agreed. He had not, however, known that it was Samandriel’s birthday. He could not honestly say that he remembered anyone’s birthday, except perhaps Gabriel’s. 

“He told me quite a bit about your customs surrounding coming of age. It made me rather sad that I am already long past that age myself.” Dean grinned across the table at Castiel, his eyes alight. “I would have liked to have a poetry recitation in my honour, I think.”

Castiel coughed, nearly choking on his wine. He could not imagine Dean standing in the Great Hall, listening patiently as one of the court poets spent an hour reciting. Even he had found it terribly boring. “It’s not nearly as glamorous as you might think,” he warned Dean.

Dean shrugged, letting the matter drop. “And did you know that Lord Joshua is attempting to grow an entirely new type of flower? He has shown me his experiments so far. It’s quite fascinating, though I understand little of it.”

“That does sound fascinating,” Castiel agreed. He hesitated for a moment, then decided now was as good a time as any. “I’m pleased that you are enjoying these walks with the courtiers, Dean. But I think it might be best if, in the future, you take a guard with you.”

All traces of good humour immediately fled from Dean’s eyes. “A guard?” he repeated. “Whatever for?”

“For protection.” Castiel thought that should have been clear. 

“From whom? The courtiers?” Dean snorted. “They lack both the spines and the weapons to do me any harm.”

“You never know,” Castiel said. “Dean, I know you are attempting to befriend the people, and it is a commendable effort, truly. But you are also proving to be-- a disturbance, shall we say, and not everyone will be charmed enough to forget that.”

Dean folded his arms across his chest, leveling Castiel with a stare. “And what makes you think I cannot defend myself, even without my sword?” The tartness in his voice told Castiel he had not yet forgotten the indignity of having his weapon removed from him.

Looking at him, the way his muscles bulged beneath his sleeves, Castiel had little doubt he could defend himself with or without a blade. But Victor’s words of caution still rang in his ears, so he persisted. “Captain Henriksen has someone in mind. Just go to the barracks tomorrow, meet with them. If you do not approve, we will find someone else.”

“I don’t need a minder,” Dean said flatly. “Or worse, a spy, following me around and reporting back to you or to your Captain Henriksen.”

Castiel’s mouth dropped open. How dare Dean insinuate-- no, Castiel would not stand for this. “You are the most rude, the most infuriating--” he broke off, his grip on his wine goblet tightening enough to risk shattering it. “Dean. We are only thinking of your safety.”

“No, you’re not.” Dean drained the last of his wine and stood, offering Castiel a mocking bow. “If you truly cared about my safety, and if you truly trusted me, you would give me back my sword.”

With that, he turned sharply on his heel and left the room.

A moment later, Castiel’s empty goblet landed with a thunk on the carpet as he tossed it aside. Nyx, startled by the noise, leapt out from her place under the table, scolding him loudly as she twined about his ankles. 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel murmured, reaching down to stroke her back. “I can’t seem to do anything right.”

He wished Dean would forgive him as easily as Nyx did, her rumbling soon turning to purrs as he continued to pet her. But long after he retired to bed and closed his eyes, the look on Dean’s face as he walked away continued to haunt him. More than angry, he had been truly hurt. And Castiel did not know how to soothe the injury. 

All he could do was give it time. After all, they had the rest of their lives ahead of them. Surely, they could not maintain this level of animosity that long.


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, Dean woke to a knock on his door. It seemed earlier than usual, but he called out for Kevin to enter regardless. “Forgive the intrusion, Your Grace,” Kevin said, giving him a low bow. “But you have an appointment at the training barracks before this morning’s court session.”

“I did not agree to this appointment.” Dean rolled over to hide the scowl on his face. He had told Castiel he did not require a guard, and yet here he was, ordering Dean about like he was just another subject. Or worse, like he was a child who needed to be coddled and looked after, not trusted to know his own strengths and capabilities.

“Please, Your Grace.” There was a desperation in Kevin’s voice that caused Dean to look back at him. His eyes were wide, and he swallowed nervously before continuing. “I know it is not my place, but-- at least meet with the guards.”

Dean softened in face of his clear concern. It was not Kevin he was angry with, but Castiel. “Oh, very well,” he muttered, swinging himself out of his bed. “But only because you asked me to, Kevin. Can’t stand the thought of being deprived of my company so soon, hmn?”

Kevin flushed. “Royal guards are a time-honoured tradition--”

“You know how I feel about traditions,” Dean interrupted. “Now. What do I wear for such an appointment?”

He would feel more at ease if he had his sword with him, Dean thought sourly as Kevin led him through a section of the palace he had not yet visited. But if Kevin believed it was important for him to have a personal guard, then Dean would at least consider the matter. After all, Castiel had one. And Dean wished for them to appear as equals in all ways.

Leaving the private corridors behind, Kevin led him through the stables, the grooms all pausing in their work to bow in greeting as Dean passed. His attention was caught by a number of fine horses in the stalls, and he made a note to return here as soon as possible to inspect them further.

Just beyond the stables lay the barracks, with the hard-packed training ground between them. Two women stood waiting there, their arms folded neatly behind them. Dean glanced at them curiously, wondering which of the two was to be his guard. 

“I will wait for you here,” Kevin said with a bow, gesturing to Dean to step forward.

So he summoned a polite smile and approached the guards. “Good morning,” he said. “I’m Dean.”

“Your Grace.” The older of the two gave a brief bow, as no-nonsense as her voice. “Captain Jody Mills. I oversee the training program here.”

“An honour,” Dean murmured, then turned to look at the other guard. “And does that mean you are to be my new guard?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” She beamed at him, her smile nearly as bright as her red hair. “I’m Celeste, though most call me Charlie.”

She certainly seemed enthusiastic, and friendlier than most other Arxellians Dean had met thus far. But she was terribly small for a guard, and would look even more so when compared to Victor’s imposing bulk. 

Turning back to Captain Mills, he said, “You selected Charlie specifically for this position, I understand?”

“I did. And she was quite eager to accept.” There was fondness and pride in Jody’s voice as she looked at Charlie. “I believe she will suit your needs well.”

“It is not my place to disagree with your judgment.” Dean kept his voice deliberately mild, having no intention of making enemies here today. “But I hope it will not offend you-- either of you-- if I request to spar with Charlie, in order to see proof of her abilities for myself.”

A faint smile appeared on Jody’s face. “I suspected you would ask as much. Charlie?”

Dean turned to look back at Charlie, a promise to go easy on her ready on his lips, but she was already in motion, launching herself at him so quickly he barely had time to throw up an arm in defense. Her grin never faded as she circled around him, looking for an opening.

Once he had recovered from that first surprise attack, Dean dropped into a crouch, watching Charlie warily. She was quick, he would give her that. He made a few tentative strikes, but she dodged each one with ease. Her slight stature also allowed her to get under his guard, and she landed a solid blow to his shoulder before ducking back.

Dean was impressed, but also rather disappointed in himself. It had been a long time since he had fought without a weapon in his hand, and he was clearly out of practice. Taking a steadying breath, he kicked out at Charlie’s legs, and though she stumbled, she regained her balance quickly, her movements as graceful as a dancer’s. 

He had seen enough. Charlie’s size was clearly to her advantage, and considering that Dean still did not truly believe he required a guard at all, he would rather a small, friendly one than a glowering brute. He straightened up, raising his hands to signal his agreement, and that was when Charlie’s kick landed straight to his gut.

Dean staggered back, winded, as Charlie’s hands flew to her mouth and her eyes widened in horror. “Your Grace, I am so sorry!” she exclaimed. “I never meant to--”

They had an audience, Dean realized. Clusters of guards stood around the training ground, watching with interest as Dean and Charlie sparred. Now, their faces registered both shock and amusement as they waited to see how Dean would react.

Captain Mills took a step forward, her jaw clenched, but Dean waved her away. He looked back at Charlie, still holding a hand to his middle, and started to laugh.

“Well,” he said, “you’ve certainly proven your mettle.”

“You....you wish to accept Charlie as your guard?” The disbelief in Captain Mills’ voice was clear.

“Oh, yes,” Dean replied, running a hand through his now-sweaty hair. “That was most illuminating. Captain Mills, in addition to having Charlie by my side, would you permit me to train here when I have the time? It seems I am in need of some practice.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Jody looked bemused by this turn of events, but she indicated the other guards with a wave. “I’m sure any of them would be quite pleased to take a turn against you.”

With a satisfied smile, Dean turned to his audience and waved. “You’ll have to be patient, my friends,” he called. “I have to attend court now. But never fear, I’ll return as soon as I can, and you can try your best to knock your new king on his ass then!”

The guards broke into laughter and applause, clearly excited at the prospect. Dean smiled to himself, satisfied. He knew how soldiers worked, always appreciative of a superior officer who did not take themself particularly seriously. He could see himself finding not only allies but friends here.

“Come along, Charlie,” he said, turning back to look at her. “We have places to be.”

She gave Captain Mills a snappy salute, then followed Dean and Kevin back into the palace, chattering all the way. “You fight very well,” she told Dean earnestly. “But I can tell you’re accustomed to using a sword. Our style is quite different here, but I have no doubt you’ll pick it up soon enough.”

“It would appear that Captain Mills is an excellent trainer, so I have no doubt of it either,” Dean replied. “But until then, I have you to look out for me, don’t I?”

Charlie flushed almost as red as her hair, nodding furiously. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Though the guards did not usually patrol the private corridors, being stationed at its exits instead, Charlie trailed along as Dean returned to his chambers to dress for court. He had no intention of wearing the robes again, but he did admit he needed to look a touch more presentable for the courtiers than he did for the guards. Suitably attired, he and Charlie and Kevin made their way towards the Grand Hall, and Dean could not deny that Charlie’s presence lent a certain dignity to their company.

When they arrived at the door to the hall, Castiel was waiting for them. He looked at Charlie, nodded once, and said, “Thank you.”

It was unclear whether he was addressing Charlie or Dean, so Dean did not reply. But there was genuine gratefulness in Castiel’s eyes, and now that Dean had adjusted to the idea, he found he did not mind having a personal guard. He still did not approve of Castiel’s methods, but the result was not so bad. So he gave a wry smile and offered his hand to Castiel. “Shall we, Your Grace?”

And Castiel took it without protest. “Yes, let’s.”

Dean’s days took on a comfortable routine after that. In the mornings, he and Castiel attended court together, and then, weather permitting, Dean would take a stroll in the gardens, always joined by a surprising number of courtiers. If it was a quieter day, he would then go to the guards’ training ground and practice his hand-to-hand combat, having no shortage of willing partners. His evenings were his to do with as he pleased, and most nights, he went to sleep satisfied with the progress he was making.

He and Castiel had settled into an uneasy truce as well. They appeared before the court as a united front, and were cordial with one another when they encountered each other in the halls, but they did not spend any more time together than was absolutely required. Castiel seemed content to leave Dean alone now that he was assured he would be safe under Charlie’s protection, and Dean had given up on attempting to include Castiel in his garden walks after several declined invitations. While it saddened Dean to think of an entire life of such stiff formality, he supposed it was better than the two of them constantly at each other’s throats. 

The only thing that truly worried Dean during this time was the silence from Pellia. He had hoped to receive a letter from Sam, something to give him an update on Jess’ condition and on the reaction to his abrupt marriage. Some days, he itched to ride for the border himself, to run away from the fragile connections he was building here and find out for himself what was happening at home. But he had a duty to these people now, and despite his initial misgivings, he was slowly becoming adjusted to the way of life here, and appreciating his new land more and more each day. 

In this way, a month passed. Dean knew every courtier by name, knew which ones would greet him with a smile and which would greet him with a frown, knew his way through all the private corridors to the places he wished to visit. He became accustomed to Charlie trailing after him wherever he went, to the way Kevin would clear his throat whenever he needed to get Dean’s attention. 

As he did one bright morning, just as Dean was leaving the Grand Hall to head to the gardens. “Yes, Kevin?” Dean said, offering an apologetic smile to Lady Hester for the interruption. 

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but a messenger has arrived, asking to speak to both you and King Castiel.” Kevin kept his voice low, but a few heads turned towards them regardless, intrigued by the prospect of gossip.

“Very well.” Dean turned back to the courtiers with a smooth smile. “Forgive me, my lords, my ladies. An unexpected matter has arisen. I will not be able to join you today.”

“Of course,” Lady Hester said, curtseying gracefully. “Until tomorrow, Your Grace.”

Dean gave them another smile and crossed the room to where Castiel awaited him, clearly having received the same message as Dean. “Do you know what this concerns?” Dean asked as they set off through the corridors.

Castiel shook his head. “No, though I imagine if it were truly grave, they would not have waited until we had finished holding court.”

“I suppose not.” Dean shot him a curious glance. This was the longest private conversation they had held in some time. “Is there anything I ought to know? Anything that might be relevant to whatever this message is?”

“You know everything I do,” Castiel replied, which was far from true. 

They soon arrived at the same chamber where their marriage negotiations had taken place. It seemed so long ago, now. Charlie and Victor pushed open the doors, and they stepped inside, Dean taking a deep breath as he did.

A young man in a grey uniform rose to his feet and offered a low bow. “Your Graces,” he murmured. 

He looked familiar, in a vague sort of way, and Dean stared at him for a long moment, attempting to put a name to the face. But Castiel was quicker.

“Ion,” he said, clearly surprised. “It is good to see you.”

Ion. Of course. The messenger who had accompanied Sam, Billie, and Pamela on their journey to Pellia. Dean stopped just inside the doorway, his heart sinking in his chest. They had received no word at all until now, and what if Ion had come bearing the worst news?

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice was soft, softer than Dean had ever heard it. He laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder, steadying him. “Please, sit down.”

Dean permitted himself to be guided to a chair, Castiel sitting beside him, his hand still a comforting weight on Dean’s shoulder. “Ion, it is good to see you. What news?” he asked. 

Instead of answering, Ion took a thick sheaf of parchment from the satchel over his shoulder and passed it to Dean, who took it with trembling hands. He stared at it for a moment, too afraid of what it might say to begin reading. 

Castiel solved the problem by removing it from Dean’s hands and giving Ion a level look. “A verbal report, please.”

“Of course, Your Grace. I did not mean to offend. I was tasked to put that letter into King Dean’s hands as quickly as possible.” Ion cast a nervous look in Dean’s direction. “Now that it is done--”

“Just tell me.” Dean hated how thin his voice sounded, how frail. “Good or bad, just tell me.”

Ion sat up straighter, his nervousness vanishing. “Prince Sam sends his best regards to you both. He is well, as are Billie and Pamela. They had some difficulties at first, but within a few days, a course of treatment was determined for Prince Sam’s betrothed, and she is much improved these past weeks.”

The air left Dean’s lungs in a shaky exhale, and Castiel’s hand tightened on his shoulder for a moment before dropping. Dean let out a noise that could charitably be termed a sob, pressing a hand to his face to cover his relief.

“Thank you,” Castiel said to Ion, distracting from Dean’s emotional outburst. “Is there anything else we ought to know?”

“Billie and Pamela plan to stay another few weeks to ensure their patient is fully recovered, but they are well and enjoying their visit to Pellia,” Ion said. “I will be happy to return to them with any messages you wish me to bear.”

“But first you must rest,” Castiel said gently. “You have done well.”

Ion rose and gave them a low bow, then left the room. Distantly, Dean noted Charlie and Victor withdrawing as well, leaving he and Castiel alone.

“This is good news.” Castiel’s voice was still soft. “I am very glad to hear it.”

Finally, Dean looked up. “It is,” he agreed, wiping his face. “The best possible news. Forgive me for my dramatics, I should have handled myself with more grace--”

“Dean.” Castiel laid a hand on his shoulder once more. “You are allowed to react to these things.”

His unexpected kindness was more than Dean knew how to deal with. He swallowed roughly, then nodded, forcing himself to meet Castiel’s eyes. “Thank you,” he said, voice hoarse. 

“This must have been a terrible weight on you,” Castiel commented, those otherworldly blue eyes solemn as he looked at Dean. 

“Yes,” Dean agreed. “Jess has constantly been in my thoughts, and the lack of news was frustrating, to say the least. I hate feeling powerless.”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth lifted in a small smile. “That does not surprise me to hear.” His hand left Dean’s shoulder, and Dean found himself strangely missing that point of contact between them.

Now that his nerves had steadied, Dean looked down at the letter on the table. “Do you mind if I--”

“Of course,” Castiel replied. “Do you wish to read in private?”

A month ago, even a day ago, Dean likely would have said yes. But now he found himself shaking his head. “No, please. Stay.” 

Dean opened the letter and began to read. As Ion had relayed, Sam was well. Jess had been in dire condition when they had arrived, but Pamela and Billie had immediately prepared some concoction that had her rallying within a few hours. At first, it had seemed only a temporary fix, enough to keep her comfortable without truly curing her. Sam was sorry, he explained, but he had not wished to send word to Dean without more information than that. It was only after a few weeks that Billie and Pamela hit upon a remedy that improved Jess’ condition rather than merely stabilizing it. 

How Dean wished he could have been there. It must have been unbearable for Sam, not knowing whether a true cure could be found. Shaking aside his thoughts, he read on. The day before Sam sent this letter, Jess had stood from her bed for the first time in nearly six months. She had taken three shaky steps across the room before stumbling into Sam’s waiting arms, but neither Billie nor Pamela had any doubt that she was well on the way to recovery. 

There was more, going into detail about other matters at home, but Dean put the letter down and turned to meet Castiel’s patient gaze. “She’s going to be alright,” he said. “Gods be praised, she’s going to be alright.”

“I am happy for you,” Castiel said. “And pleased that we have been able to help your family. Our family, I suppose. I only wish we might have been able to help more, in the past.”

Dean frowned at him, perplexed by his words. “In the past?” he repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

Castiel’s eyes went wide, and he bit his lip as though realizing he had let something slip that should have remained unspoken. “I only meant, surely there have been others who could have benefitted from our expertise--”

Shaking his head, Dean said, “No. You were referring to something specific. Tell me.”

Avoiding his gaze, Castiel traced idle patterns on the surface of the table. “Some time ago, not long after we were wed, I had...questions, about you. About your kingdom, your culture. I found a volume on Pellia in the palace library, and it proved most illuminating.”

He looked up then, his eyes shadowed with regret. “But it was quite a recent volume, and it made reference to events that concerned you directly. You, and your family. In particular, your mother.”

A piercing pain ran through Dean even at the thought of her. Her long golden hair, her wise eyes, the way she could turn from caring mother to regal queen in an instant. Dean had admired her, but he had also adored her. Coming so close to losing Jess was a painful repeat of the loss they had all previously suffered, and to have Castiel pick up on that connection as well...

“My family’s history is not something for you to study,” he said tightly. “Nor is my pain something for you to seek out. For what purpose? To wound me?”

Castiel shook his head in frantic denial. “No,” he insisted. “No, it was not that. I only wanted to know you better.”

There was no lie in his eyes. Dean stared at him for a long moment, his heart pounding in his chest. “You might have just asked,” he said eventually.

At that, Castiel gave a bitter laugh. “When?” he asked. “Dean, you were determined to ignore me. I admit, I went about it in entirely the wrong way, and for that I am sorry, but do not pretend that you made yourself as readily available as a book in the library.”

He made a valid point. And rather than denying his own wrongdoing, Castiel had admitted his guilt. Despite this, Dean’s temper pulled at him, sent fire coursing through his veins. He could raise his voice, he could allow his anger to get the better of him the way he had so many times before. He had no doubt that, if provoked, Castiel would do the same. 

If nothing else, they were well-matched in that.

Or he could focus instead on the gentleness with which Castiel had guided him to the table upon first entering the room and seeing Ion there. The warmth and strength of his hand, steady on Dean’s shoulder as Ion made his report. The genuine relief in his eyes as he learned that Jess was going to recover. 

After all, was this not the reason Dean had agreed to this marriage in the first place? To keep his family safe? And now that he was assured that Jess would be well, now that he knew Sam would not lose the love of his life, had Castiel not more than fulfilled his side of the marriage contract? Perhaps it was time that Dean did the same, and honoured his obligations not only as a king, but as a husband.

He took a deep breath, counting down from ten, letting it fill his lungs and then escape in a slow exhale. He looked across the table and met Castiel’s wary gaze, noting the way his shoulders were hunched as though expecting a blow. 

This was not what Dean wanted for either of them. They had wounded each other, and would likely continue to do so again, but all Dean could do was attempt to avoid this becoming another battle between them. 

“Do you remember the last time we were here?” he asked.

Castiel blinked at him, clearly not expecting that response. “Of course I do,” he answered warily. “We were discussing the possibility of our marriage as a solution to our problems.”

“Yes. And we raised the possibility of amending our contract, so to speak, in the future.” Dean paused, waiting to see Castiel would react to this suggestion.

His brow furrowed in a way that Dean should not have found as endearing as he did. “Very well,” he said. “What did you have in mind? Do you finally wish to move into more suitable quarters? We can arrange that, of course--”

Dean cut him off. “No, nothing of the sort.” No sense in holding back now that he had committed to this plan of action. “I want to spend more time with you. Not just at court.”

The silence that followed his words stretched on long enough to begin to feel uncomfortable. Castiel merely stared, and it took several tries for him to find his words. “You...wish to spend _more_ time with me?” he asked. “Not less?”

There was a look of utter surprise on his face. Not only surprise, but disbelief, as though such a desire was utterly foreign to him. With a sinking feeling, Dean wondered if anyone had ever said such a thing to Castel before, had ever expressed gratitude for his presence or enjoyment of his company. It made Dean feel very small, and very ashamed.

“Castiel.” Gently, carefully, Dean reached across the table and laid his hand atop his husband’s. “This-- what we’ve been doing for the past month-- isn’t working. I think we both know that. We cannot go on avoiding each other forever.”

Slowly, Castiel nodded, adjusting his hand in Dean’s grip. “What do you suggest we do about it?”

“Why don’t you ever join me when I go walking in the gardens?” Dean asked. He had long wondered about Castiel’s reticence to do so, whether it was based on a desire to avoid the courtiers or to avoid Dean. “Why don’t we ever dine together, or with the court?”

Castiel shrugged. “It’s simply...not done.”

“And so?” Dean dropped Castiel’s hand so that he could raise both of his own in an expansive gesture. “Nor was wearing anything but those terrible robes to court, and I’ve not yet been struck down for breaking that tradition.”

“Not yet,” Castiel muttered under his breath, but his face was brightening even as he spoke. “I suppose I have not wished to intrude on your time getting to know the courtiers. And frankly, I find them irritating, a great deal of the time.”

He really was ill-prepared for being a monarch, Dean thought sadly. “They can be,” he admitted. “But I think you ought to give them a chance.”

At that, Castiel had the good grace to look abashed. “Perhaps you’re right,” he sighed. “But I could make an effort to meet with them elsewhere, you don’t need me interfering with your time with them--”

“Castiel.” Dean said it with more force this time, knowing he had to make himself very clear. “I want you to join me when I walk in the gardens with the courtiers. Not every day, especially not at first. We’ll start slow. But we need to be a united front, and that means letting the people see us together, not just as distant figures on our thrones but as people they can confide in, people they can trust.”

At that, Castiel gave him a bitter smile. “You truly are far more prepared for this than I ever was,” he said. 

“Then let me help you.” Instinctively, Dean reached for his hand again. “Let us help each other. I know this has not been easy, and I know I’m likely to lose my temper again and you’ll likely say something cutting about my fashion choices, but whether we like it or not, this is the decision we made. And for everyone’s sake, let us try to find a way to live with it.”

While Dean waited, praying this risk would pay off, Castiel stared down at their joined hands for a long moment. Finally, he looked up, and the smile on his face stole the breath from Dean’s lungs. 

“May I stop wearing my robes as well?” he asked. “If you give me royal permission, no one can argue with me.”

Dean couldn’t help himself. He started to laugh, and after a minute, Castiel joined him. Their shared merriment drew the attention of Victor and Charlie, who re-entered the room to find their kings clutching at each other’s hands, doubled over with laughter.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean was late.

Frowning, Castiel hesitated at the door to the Grand Hall, hoping that Dean would appear in the next few minutes, before the courtiers grew too restless. He doubted there was anything particularly important that needed to be discussed today, but he firmly believed that punctuality was an important quality in any person, especially a person in a position of power. 

His frown deepening, he waved Victor over. “Have you heard anything from Charlie that might explain my husband’s absence?”

“No, Your Grace.” Victor shrugged. “Perhaps he overslept.”

“Perhaps.” Once, Castiel would have accepted this theory without question. But ever since Ion had come back from Pellia with his encouraging news, things between the rulers of Arxelle had improved significantly. Dean had never missed a court session before, and to do so now…

Castiel was considering sending another guard to search the palace when he heard the clatter of footsteps approaching down the hall. Hands on his hips, he raised an eyebrow as Dean approached, Kevin and Charlie trailing behind as usual.

He looked-- well, he looked a fright, to be blunt. His hair was all in a disarray, there was a smudge of dirt on one cheekbone, and his tunic was looped over his belt, leaving his trouser-clad legs bared to the world. 

“What in the name of--” Castiel exclaimed, his shock turning quickly to concern. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

Dean shook his head, a guilty look on his face. “No, no. Just lost track of time. I’ll explain afterwards, I promise, but we shouldn’t keep the court waiting any longer.”

“You’re right,” Castiel agreed, waving Kevin forward, “but you cannot appear before them in such a state. It is entirely inappropriate. Even for you.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but stood patiently as Kevin fixed his hair and re-adjusted his clothing. “Do I pass muster, Your Grace?” Dean asked dryly.

“Barely,” Castiel replied lightly. Dean rolled his eyes, playfully bumping his shoulder against Castiel’s as he moved towards the door.

It was still so new, this teasing between them. Their exchanges were often still barbed, but in a way designed only to sting for a second, not to injure more deeply. Most days, Castiel enjoyed this dynamic, though he did occasionally fear he would slip too far one way or another, disturbing the fragile peace they had wrought.

As he had predicted, there was little to discuss, so court was dismissed early. None of the courtiers mentioned the slight delay to the session, for which Castiel was grateful. Perhaps they too were learning how to relax, how to consider whether things truly mattered before making a fuss about them. 

Just as Dean had requested, Castiel had begun joining him for his walks in the garden, not every single day but with increasing frequency. Much to his surprise, he found himself looking forward to those afternoons. So he was rather disappointed when, as the courtiers began to gather to follow them outside, Dean shook his head with a look of regret on his face.

“I’m afraid I will have to cancel my afternoon stroll,” he said. Then, with a quick smile at Castiel, he clarified, “Our afternoon stroll.”

Lord Samandriel frowned, his normally sunny expression dimmed. “Is-- is something the matter?” he asked hesitantly. “Only, you were late this morning, and now to change your usual routine--”

Dean reached out and squeezed his shoulder, a fond look on his face. Samandriel was a few years younger than Dean’s own brother, if Castiel recalled correctly, and Dean had certainly taken up a fraternal attitude towards him. 

“Nothing is wrong. I promise, all will be revealed soon. I have a project I have been working on, and it requires my attention today. That is all.” Dean turned back to the rest of the group, giving them a brief bow. “Until tomorrow.”

A chorus of interested murmurs followed them as Dean tugged Castiel away from the Grand Hall. “What are you up to?” Castiel asked, noting with some surprise that Dean had chosen to use the public hallways. “You cannot be as vague with me as you can with poor Samandriel, you know.”

“I know.” Dean cast a pleased grin at him over his shoulder. “You’re far too suspicious to accept my pretty but empty words.”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s a compliment,” Castiel muttered. He looked around with interest as Dean led him further into the east wing of the palace, an area Castiel rarely ventured to. He had no idea how Dean had even discovered it. 

As they walked, Castiel became increasingly aware of distant thudding noises, growing gradually louder. He looked at Dean, his confusion deepening, but Dean did not seem concerned. 

Rounding another corner, Castiel was greeted by a strange sight: a jumble of furniture and tapestries piled in the centre of the corridor, palace attendants adding to it as they came and went from the room beyond. Dean halted right in front of the mess, planted his feet, and grinned broadly at Castiel. “Well? What do you think?”

“I think I haven’t the faintest idea what is happening here,” Castiel replied.

Dean shook his head, waving him forward. “Come and see.”

Picking his way delicately around the pile of discarded furnishings, Castiel followed him into the room. It was a large, airy chamber, with a wall of windows looking out over the city along one side. Castiel had a vague recollection of his mother using it as a parlour of sorts, to sit and chat with some other ladies of the court. That would explain all the rose and cream armchairs now cluttering up the hallway. 

But now, a long wooden table ran down the length of the room, with enough seats for perhaps twenty people along it. At either end were two slightly larger chairs, ornately carved along their edges and arms. A richly woven carpet in shades of red and gold covered the stone floor, matching the drapes that hung over the top of the window. 

“It’s beautiful,” Castiel said, turning in a slow circle to admire the room. “Is there where you were this morning? Why you were late for court?”

Dean nodded. “I wanted to show it to you today, and as I said, I lost track of time, rushing to get things ready.”

“But what is it for?” Castiel asked. “A council room? We already have several of those.”

The grin slipped from Dean’s lips as his expression turned uncharacteristically hesitant. “It’s a dining room. I thought-- it doesn’t have to be every night, or even every other night. I know you still find the court overwhelming and annoying at times, but we’ve been making such good progress--”

Castiel held up a hand. “Dean.” At the sound of his voice, Dean halted, flushing slightly. “Slow down.”

Taking a deep breath, Dean waved a hand at the room. “I’d like to start holding dinners with the court.”

“I gathered as much.” Castiel looked at the table again, the number of seats, and frowned. “But there isn’t nearly enough room for everyone to eat here.”

“No.” Dean strode over to the table, running a hand down the arm of one of the chairs. “That would be too much, even for me. And would be entirely counter-productive. There’s no way to host an intimate gathering of hundreds of people.”

“But how do you decide who is to attend, then? The risk of causing offence--” Castiel shuddered at the very thought. 

“You rotate,” Dean explained. “Certain guests attend on certain nights. The list is curated to bring together people who may not normally interact with one another, to allow them time to get to know each other in a relaxed, comfortable environment.”

It was an interesting notion, but Castiel was still unsure. “You sound as though you have experience with this,” he commented. “Is this something you do frequently in Pellia?”

“Yes.” There was a hint of wistfulness in Dean’s eyes as he gazed out the window. “On a much smaller scale, of course. Our numbers are far fewer than yours. But dining together-- yes, it is a long-standing and respected tradition of ours.”

He paused for a moment, then looked down. “I miss it.”

A wave of guilt crashed over Castiel. He should have known there was more to this than some mere boredom-driven attempt to further socialization with the court. Of course Dean would be longing for some of his own customs and habits, little things to make him feel more at home here.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said softly. “I didn’t realize how much this meant to you. If you had come to me sooner, if you had told me this was something you wanted--”

At that, Dean looked up. “You would have told me it simply wasn’t done.” There was no real heat in his voice, but his words rang true, and Castiel flinched at them. 

“Perhaps,” he acknowledged. “What you have accomplished, though--” he indicated the room and the pile of old furniture outside-- “it’s quite impressive.”

“Even more so considering I managed to do it all without you noticing.” A glimmer of humour returned to Dean’s eyes, and Castiel was glad to see it. 

“Indeed,” he said. “How did you even find this room?”

“Kevin,” Dean answered simply. “I asked him if there was a space around this size that was not currently being used, and he brought me back a list of about five within an hour.”

“Five?” Castiel was surprised to hear there had been so many options. “How much unused space is there in this palace?”

“You might know better if you ventured anywhere beyond your chambers, the Grand Hall, and the library.” The rebuke in Dean’s voice was mild, but still present. 

“That’s unfair,” Castiel protested. “I also visit the gardens with you now.”

The corners of Dean’s eyes crinkled up as he burst into surprised laughter. Castiel felt his own smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and he pulled out a chair and sank into it, gesturing to Dean to do the same.

“I’m happy to hear that you found a space suitable for your needs,” he said. “And Kevin is to be commended for his efforts. How soon will you begin arranging these dinners?”

“As you can see, everything is nearly ready here. I hoped to consult with you on the guest lists, though.” Dean gave him a pleading look. “As much as I have to come know the court, there are still things I have yet to learn. Insights only you can provide. I do not wish to seat two people beside one another only to discover they are sworn enemies after one defeated the other in a poetry contest ten years ago.”

“In that case, never bring Lord Metatron and Lady Naomi into contact,” Castiel replied.

Dean laughed, then quickly stopped. “You’re serious.”

“Oh, yes.” Castiel remembered the incident well, having been only a student at the time. “He has never forgiven her for it. He considers himself quite the wordsmith, and he does have some talent, but he ought to have picked a different piece to be evaluated. Everyone knew Naomi’s was superior.”

Dean looked both intrigued and horrified at his offhand comment being proven so accurate. “I will make a note of it.”

“If anything else comes to mind, I’ll be sure to inform you.” Castiel hesitated for a moment, glancing between the two larger chairs at the ends of the table. “Dean?”

“Yes?” Dean looked up, expectant.

“Are you--” It was harder than he would have thought, asking such a thing. “Am I invited to these dinners? The chairs at the ends would lead me to think so, but I do not wish to presume--”

“Of course you are.” Dean’s voice was firm, without the slightest trace of hesitation. “What, you thought I would bring you here and show you my progress, then ask for your assistance and send you on your way?”

“I did not want to presume,” Castiel repeated, feeling himself flush. “I thought, if this was something to remind you of home, then perhaps you would not want--”

_Would not want to see the reason you are so far from there._ The words died on his lips at the look on Dean’s face: exasperated, but not angry. 

“I think you misunderstand me,” Dean said. “I do miss many things about home. But when I seek to bring those customs here, it is not only for my own benefit. It’s for all of ours: yours, mine, the entire court’s. I know we take very different approaches to ruling, my lord, and there are many things with which I have no desire to interfere. But this--” he swept his hands over the surface of the table-- “this is something I believe will benefit us all.”

Castiel nodded slowly. “Thank you. For...well, for all of it.”

Dean gave him a soft smile. “You’re welcome. Now.” He stood up, his eyes twinkling. “Would you like to come help me charm the kitchen attendants into agreeing to prepare all the food necessary for these dinners we plan to begin hosting?”

“I rather think that charm is your department,” Castiel replied, but he stood nevertheless. “I’m not sure how much help I will be.”

“Nonsense,” Dean said breezily. Then, much to Castiel’s surprise, he reached out and tapped Castiel on the cheek, right below his eyes. “Just give them a flash of those sky blue eyes and they’ll do anything you ask of them.”

He turned and bounded out of the room like an eager puppy, leaving Castiel frozen in place behind him, one hand pressed gently to his cheek as though chasing the sensation of Dean’s hand on his face. After a long moment, Castiel shook himself out of his daze and chased after his husband, grateful that he would soon be able to blame the flush on his cheeks on the heat of the kitchens.

“You’ve learned your way around easily enough,” Castiel commented as he caught up to Dean, who was navigating the hallways with surprising familiarity. “Do you go out wandering at night, after everyone else is abed?”

Dean laughed at that. “No, but I had Kevin procure me a map of the inner corridors, fearing I would get lost. Then I figured I might as well memorize these ones as well. I had no wish to be late for anything due to my own inattention.”

It never failed to surprise and delight Castiel, how much Dean truly did care about his responsibilities as a ruler. “And yet, this morning…” he teased.

“Am I to suffer for this for the rest of my life?” Dean sighed, hanging his head in affected shame. “Yes, I was, at most, five minutes late. It will not happen again.”

“Good.” Castiel gave a swift nod. “I was about to send a guard out to find you.”

“What, were you worried?” Dean’s voice was light, but when Castiel did not reply, his eyes widened. “Oh. You were.”

Castiel shrugged brusquely. “You’ve never been late before. It was...concerning.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something else, then closed it again, his eyes thoughtful. Fortunately, they were spared any awkward silence as they reached their destination not long afterwards. 

The kitchen attendants looked up in shock as both of their kings entered, Victor and Charlie trailing after them. Castiel gave an awkward wave, mumbling a greeting under his breath, but Dean went directly to the woman standing in the centre of the room, a broad grin on his face.

“Linda!” he exclaimed. “How good to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from Kevin, of course, but have not yet had the pleasure of making your acquaintance. Thank you for joining us.”

Castiel frowned slightly, unsure what the overseer of palace operations was doing here with them. “Welcome, Your Grace. To what do we owe the honour?” Linda said.

“Well, you see, Castiel and I have been thinking--” Dean began.

Castiel made a noise of protest at being included in this statement, but Dean only tossed a grin over his shoulder at him and directed his attention back to Linda. 

“We’d like to begin hosting dinners for the court several times per week. Twenty guests, plus King Castiel and myself. But of course, we wanted to ensure that the kitchens would be willing to handle such a large meal. We know it isn’t something that is normally done.” Dean gave her a pleading look. “But we hoped it could be.”

Linda looked skeptical, but there was a glimmer of interest in her eyes as she turned to look at Castiel. “There has not been a feast of such size since your grandfather’s day, Your Grace.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow at that. “I was not aware.”

“Oh, yes.” Linda nodded fiercely. “It was before my time, of course.” A distant look crossed her face. “King Cain’s dinners were legendary. It was considered the highest of honours to be invited with regularity. Of course, that was before the dining hall was converted into the new wing of the library. Even on a smaller scale, to replicate one would be an interesting challenge.”

“See?” Dean grinned brightly at them both. “It is not as strange or as foreign as you thought, my lord. You will have to tell me more about this grandfather of yours, of whose habits I firmly approve.”

“King Cain was a great man, and a great ruler,” Linda said. She swept over Dean with an assessing gaze, her eyes softening slightly. “From what my son has told me of you, I see a great deal of him in you.”

Dean flushed pink to the tips of his ears. “That’s very kind of you.”

Castiel had not considered it before. He had only known King Cain in his earliest childhood, as a tall, kindly, deep-voiced figure on the throne before he passed away. His closest connection to his grandfather came from the poetry he left behind, and in that, he could find no comparison to Dean. But Linda was older than he, and must have been witness to more of King Cain’s character, so he trusted her judgment.

Such musings did not help advance their case. He cleared his throat politely. “We need not commit to anything long-term yet,” he said. “A trial run, perhaps? Two days from now?”

He could practically see Linda running through calculations in her mind. After a moment, she gave another nod. “Yes, I believe that can be managed.” She cast a speculative look at the kitchen attendants as they worked, her eyes calculating. “It will prove a most worthwhile challenge for the chefs.”

“I see where Kevin has acquired his capabilities and his determination,” Dean said gallantly. “Thank you, Linda. This means a great deal to me.”

She flapped a hand in his direction. “Now, go about your business,” she instructed. “And leave me to mine.”

Both Dean and Castiel sank into low bows, and as they turned to leave, Dean reached out and grabbed two buns from where they stood cooling beside the ovens. With a wink, he tossed one to Castiel. “You see? You can be charming if required.”

Castiel was too busy tearing into the bun to reply. Perhaps he ought to visit the kitchens more often, if this was the reward for doing so. 

In the hallway, Dean paused, casting an uncertain look at Castiel. “Do you--do you have matters that you need to see to?”

“Nothing of import,” Castiel replied, swallowing the last of his bun. “Why?”

“I thought perhaps we might settle on a guest list. If the first dinner is to take place in two days.” Dean shrugged lightly. “It would be best to extend invitations sooner rather than later.”

That probably would be for the best. “Very well,” Castiel agreed. “Shall we retire to my chambers, then?”

Dean went still, then slowly shook his head. “No,” he said. “I think--” He broke off, swallowed roughly, and then continued. “No sense traipsing all the way across the palace. There are meeting rooms in this wing that will serve well enough.” His smile was back in place, but there was something strained in it. Something that Castiel did not like. 

He was unsure how he had managed to misstep, though it was clear that he had. Whatever it was, Dean had not fought him on it, and for that Castiel was grateful. They had spent most of the day in each other’s company and managed to avoid an argument that ended with one of them storming off in a huff. So far, at least. Unless there was some disagreement over the guest list, Castiel expected that they might continue in such a peaceable manner.

What a novel thing it was, this new state of cooperation. Castiel only hoped it would last.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean stood with his hands on his hips, likely disrupting the proper folds of his tunic, which he had by now learned to adjust on his own. He peered around his chambers, but in vain. With a sigh, he stuck his head out into the corridor and called, “Kevin!”

His attendant materialized as though out of thin air. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“Have you seen my coronet? The topaz one?” Dean was sure he had left it on top of the dressing table, but it was not there now, nor was it in the glass-fronted cabinet where other such accessories were displayed.

Kevin’s face remained politely neutral, but there was amusement in his eyes as he crossed the room and opened the door to the balcony. A moment later, he returned with the coronet in hand, passing it over to Dean with a bow. 

Dean frowned down at it, utterly perplexed. “How did you--”

“You left it there yesterday after court,” Kevin answered. “I believe you said you were considering dropping it over the rails, but feared it might impale someone below and did not want that death on your conscience.”

“Ah.” Dean remembered now. The previous day had been especially trying, with courtiers all vying for a coveted spot on the invitation list for the next court dinner. For the most part, the introduction of those gatherings had gone smoothly in the three weeks since the first one took place, but on occasion, they did create some discord. Frustrated with the shameless campaigning, Dean had returned to his chambers and torn off his coronet, feeling the weight of it more than ever. And then, apparently, left it hanging on the railing of his balcony.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and gave Kevin a nod of thanks. “You have an excellent memory,” he commented. “Far better than my own, apparently.”

“I am here to tend to all of Your Grace’s needs,” Kevin replied, with only a hint of sarcasm in his voice. 

Scoffing, Dean patted him on the back and placed the coronet on his head. He quickened his pace on the way to the Grand Hall, not wishing to be late. As usual, Castiel was there before him, but he did not chastise Dean for his tardiness, merely greeting him with a small smile and a nod of his head.

They entered the room together and ascended the dais hand in hand. “May the light of wisdom shine ever on you,” Dean began, his voice echoing in the wide space. “And good morning to you all.”

The first time he had taken it upon himself to open the session, he had been so nervous he feared his voice might crack. But Castiel had encouraged him to do so, saying it was important to Dean to take an active role in the court proceedings and to show that he did honour at least _some_ of the Arxellian customs by speaking the traditional greeting. Of course, Dean added his own, more casual statement to the end of it, but Castiel only rolled his eyes and began doing the same. 

Now, he picked up smoothly after Dean. “Are there any among you who have matters to be discussed with the court?”

“I do!” The crowd parted to allow Lord Metatron to come forward, his eyes alight with eagerness. Beside him, Dean heard Castiel give the faintest of sighs, and fought to cover his own grin at the utter exasperation in that one small sound.

“Yes, my lord?” Dean asked politely. “What do you wish to discuss?”

“As you all know, I will be in attendance at the dinner tonight.” The smugness practically dripped from Metatron’s voice as he spoke. “And I thought, as a gesture of recognition for this great honour, I might honour you all in return with a reading from my current work on the history of Arxelle.”

Dean glanced at Castiel, unsure how to handle this request. It seemed a small thing, but would it appear to give too much favour to Metatron, when no one else had done such a thing before?

“What a generous offer,” Castiel said smoothly. “But are you certain you would wish to share your work with us so soon? I know it is far from complete, and to bring things to light before their proper time seems a shame.”

For all his occasional awkwardness, Castiel truly had a gift for handling these sorts of requests. Playing to Metatron’s vanity was a masterful move, and Dean was impressed by the way Castiel managed to make it sound like it would be in his best interest not to reveal his work too soon.

But of course, Metatron had an answer for that as well. “Oh, I agree wholeheartedly,” he declared. “Much of the work is not yet ready for public consumption. But there is a prologue I am satisfied with and would be delighted to share with those in attendance.” He gave a triumphant look around as he finished, as though reminding all the other courtiers that he had been invited where some of them had not.

What an obnoxious man he was. Dean forced a pleasant smile to his face and took it upon himself to answer, since Castiel had done so initially. “Congratulations on your efforts,” he said. “Here is my proposal: you bring your completed sections with you, and if there comes a lull in the conversation where the entire table agrees, we will hear your passages then.”

“A fine idea,” Castiel said, sending Dean a grateful look. It was near impossible to get any group of Arxellians to agree on anything, so the chances of them all wishing to hear Metatron declaim were slim. “Thank you for your contributions, Lord Metatron.”

Apparently satisfied, Metatron gave a brief bow and melted back into the crowd.

“Would anyone else like to bring forth a matter for discussion?” Dean asked, hoping he would be met with silence. It was a fine day, and he would like to escape to the gardens as quickly as possible and then spend the rest of the afternoon training with the guards. 

“Yes, Your Grace.” Lord Raphael stepped forward from his place at the side of the room, making the briefest of bows towards the dais. “A small matter, but one I consider most important.”

Dean was not sure he liked the sound of that, but he nodded regardless. “Proceed.”

“As I’m sure you are all aware, the Festival of the Moon is approaching,” Lord Raphael continued. “And I wondered whether Your Graces had begun to make preparations.”

Dean was not aware that the Festival of the Moon was approaching. He was not aware that there was a Festival of the Moon to begin with. He cast a helpless look at Castiel, who gave him a swift smile before replying to Raphael.

“Of course,” Castiel said, “we are aware. But the Festival will not take place for three months yet, Lord Raphael. I believe we still have a great deal of time to prepare.”

“Yes, yes.” Raphael nodded, the very picture of agreeability, but something in his manner grated at Dean for reasons he could not explain. “I only ask because you will have to proceed differently this year than the last, now that we are blessed to be ruled by both of Your Graces.”

“I am aware.” Castiel’s voice was tight, and though Dean did not know what they were speaking of, he recognized the signs of Castiel’s temper rising. 

Reaching out to lay a gentle hand on Castiel’s arm, Dean smiled at Raphael and the rest of the court. “We are greatly looking forward to celebrating together, and with all of you. In the coming weeks, any of your input would be much appreciated.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. I do indeed have some advice you may find useful.” Raphael’s tone remained pleasant, his words polite, but Dean heard a threat in them, a warning. It irritated him, to be spoken to so, as though he were a child in need of guidance.

“Of course,” he agreed. “We would not take such a matter lightly.”

“Take matters lightly? No, Your Grace would never do such a thing.” Raphael gave a smile that looked more like a smirk and made his bow, holding it to exactly the proper standard due to a ruler. “Thank you for your consideration, Your Grace.”

“And you for your insights,” Dean replied automatically, the formalities of the court having finally become familiar to him over the months since his arrival here. He could still feel the tension in Castiel’s body, so he squeezed his arm lightly before pulling his hand away. “If there is no one else who wishes to speak…”

No other voices were raised, so Dean stood, Castiel following a second later. “Go with good fortune,” Dean proclaimed.

He tugged Castiel after him, heading back towards the exit to the private corridor rather than towards the gardens. A few confused voices followed after him, but he could hear Charlie informing the courtiers that Dean would be with them shortly, her cheerful and reassuring manner calming them quickly.

Castiel, though, would require more than a few soothing words. His jaw was tightly clenched, and the moment they were alone, he began muttering to himself too quietly for Dean to understand him. 

It was strange, seeing that anger directed at someone other than him. Castiel did not lose composure easily, and Dean was surprised that it took only a few words from Raphael to make him do so now. Clearly, he was missing some vital piece of information that would provide context for the situation.

“So,” he said, deliberately keeping his tone casual, “this Festival of the Moon must be rather important, if even the mention of it has you so enraged.”

“It is not the Festival that is the problem,” Castiel snapped.

Rather than allowing his own temper to get the better of him, Dean merely raised an eyebrow at that and waited for Castiel to realize his error. 

It did not take long. Castiel sighed, rubbed one hand across his face, and muttered, “I apologize. That was misdirected of me.”

“It was,” Dean agreed, “but I will forgive it. Now. What is the problem?”

“I should have been prepared for this.” Castiel wasn’t looking at Dean as he answered, staring off into the distance instead. “It slipped my mind entirely, and of course Raphael would seize upon it.”

Dean was no less confused than he had been before. In fact, his confusion might have deepened. “Castiel,” he said. “Please. Explain from the beginning.”

That drew Castiel’s attention back to him, and his expression turned remorseful. “Of course. My apologies, Dean. This all must seem very abrupt to you.”

Dean waved aside his apology, more interested in the explanation. “Just tell me.”

Castiel ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up in a way Hannah and Kevin would likely disapprove of. “The Festival of the Moon is our largest communal gathering. I had not given it much thought, it being months away yet. But traditionally, it is led by the reigning monarchs, with roles for each of them. If there is only one monarch, a proxy is found for the other.”

Dean began to see where this was going. “But this year, you won’t need one.”

“Precisely.” Castiel gave him a bitter smile. “And who do you suppose has been the proxy for the past years I have led the ceremony?”

Dean winced. “Raphael?”

“Indeed. He is a distant cousin of sorts, but the closest relation I have, so the role has been his for some time.” Castiel sighed again. “I suspect he is displeased at being edged out of the spotlight this year, and was testing you to see how you would react to being called upon to lead the Festival with me.”

“Hence the jab about taking things lightly.” Dean’s own anger rose in his chest as he considered the implications of Raphael’s statement. “As though I would not treat your celebrations with the respect they deserve. I do have some understanding of propriety.”

“I know.” Castiel gave him a faint smile. “And seeing as no one else has broached the subject, I believe it has more to do with Raphael feeling slighted than it does with the way you have approached ruling here.” 

There was a compliment in there somewhere, and it warmed Dean to the core. He coughed to cover his reaction and asked, “So what do we do, then? I concede to your superior knowledge in these matters.”

Castiel shrugged. “For now, we ignore it. There are not so many preparations as Raphael would have you think, and in truth, Gabriel and the temple attendants do much of the work. And in the meantime, we ought to give Raphael a seat at the table for the next dinner, to soothe his injured pride.”

“Very diplomatic.” Dean nodded approvingly. “Not tonight, of course, but next time. You’re getting quite good at this juggling of interests, my lord.”

“Thank you,” Castiel replied, and though his tone was droll, there was a hint of genuine pride in it. “I have learned from the best, after all.”

Dean laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “And now I must see to my friends in the garden. Until dinner?”

“Until dinner.” Castiel gave him a brief bow, then turned down the corridor towards his chambers. Dean watched him go with a faint smile on his face, strangely buoyed by their discussion. They had been faced with a potentially difficult situation, and had resolved it together. Two, if that annoying business with Metatron counted as well. Whistling to himself, Dean set off for the gardens.

Dean was in the middle of a story about his latest adventures in training with the Royal Guards, the entire table listening raptly. He gestured wildly with his hands as he said, “And then, we both fell flat on our faces, much to the amusement of the onlookers.”

“So who won?” Samandriel asked eagerly, eyes alight with laughter. 

“Oh, we called it a draw,” Dean said airily. “We plan to hold a rematch soon. If you wish to lay wagers, speak to me at the end of the evening.”

“May I participate as well?” Castiel asked from the other end of the table. “Or would that be considered favouritism, do you think?”

“You may participate so long as you do not wager against me,” Dean replied. “The kingdom would not stand for such a show of disunity.” 

“Indeed we would not.” Metatron smiled at Dean in what he surely thought was a charming manner. “And what an excellent way to lead into my book, which charts the rise and growth of our kingdom.”

Dean bit back a scathing reply and cast a quick look around the table instead, looking for any signs of either visible interest or definite disinterest in hearing Metatron read from his history. Samandriel appeared polite but uncommitted, Hester slightly apprehensive, and the others all avoided his gaze, looking down at their empty plates or sipping from their wine.

They had made it through the entire meal without mention of Metatron’s book, and Dean had foolishly thought he might have abandoned the idea of reading to them. Alas, it seemed he had only been waiting until they were lulled into a false sense of security. 

Dean grimaced down at his plate, but smoothed his face into a smile before looking up at his guests. “What say you, my friends? Shall we hear from Lord Metatron now?”

The silence stretched just long enough to become slightly uncomfortable before Castiel spoke up. “Perhaps a short reading would be best, my lord. Just enough to intrigue us, but not give away too much.”

Dean shot him a grateful look, which Castiel acknowledged by raising his glass and taking a long swallow of his wine. Biting back laughter, Dean did the same. 

Metatron shot to his feet with a speed that surprised Dean, considering his stature. He gave them all a broad grin and produced a sheaf of parchment from a small bag beside him, then cleared his throat loudly.

“This is the opening segment of a project I have devoted the past three years to,” he began, “and this is the first time I have shared it with an audience.”

“We are honoured,” Castiel murmured. “Please, do not leave us in suspense.”

Dean had to fake a cough in order to cover his laughter this time. He had never seen this side of Castiel, entirely sarcastic and not caring who saw it. It was probably for the best that he did not allow himself to speak thus in more public settings, but now, in this comfortable room and with a few glasses of wine singing in his veins, it amused Dean greatly. 

Metatron paused dramatically, eyes scanning the room, and only when he seemed assured that all attention was on him did he begin. “Long ago, when the world was young, still growing into the landscape we know today, Mount Aurelia sprang from its surface, the highest peak for miles. And in her shadow, the kingdom of Arxelle slowly formed, first as a small village, then a bustling town, and eventually, the glittering jewel we call home today.”

Dean propped his chin on his hand and did his best to pay attention. He was somewhat interested in the subject of Metatron’s work, still knowing so little about the kingdom he now ruled over, but the food and drink had made him sleepy, and Metatron’s recitation left much to be desired. 

He found his thoughts drifting, gazing over the rest of the table instead of listening to Metatron drone on. Most of the guests were giving him their polite attention, but many kept their wine glasses in hand, while others fiddled with their cutlery or the edge of the tablecloth. Dean winced, wishing Metatron would hurry up and conclude his speech so that they might restore the previous jovial mood.

“And so was the first king of Arxelle crowned,” Metatron declared, “passing down his wisdom over the years, to where it resides now with our current sovereign.” He made a low bow in Castiel’s direction, then straightened up, looking eagerly around the room.

Dean began to clap more out of a sense of duty than any real appreciation for what he had heard. The others joined him, but at the other end of the table, Castiel frowned at Metatron.

“Very enjoyable,” he said, “but you have some revising to do, my lord.”

Metatron’s proud grin slid off his face. “Your Grace?”

“The information is accurate, and the presentation is….” Castiel hesitated for a moment. “Compelling. But that last line you spoke must have been written some time ago.”

“It was.” Metatron frowned at him. “Did you not like it? I thought you would find it flattering.”

“Oh, I do,” Castiel assured him. “But surely, you must have noticed, Arxelle has two kings now.”

Dean winced and shot Castiel a glare. He had noticed the singular of sovereign as well, but had not bothered to comment on it. It seemed in ill taste to mention it to Metatron, and yet Castiel’s outrage at Dean being excluded from mention was a pleasing thought. 

“Oh!” Metatron nodded, his eyes wide. “Yes, of course, Your Grace.” He turned to Dean and made a bow in his direction. “I will amend it at once.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Dean murmured.

“In fact--” Metatron broke off, a dreamy look on his face. “Forgive me, my lords, my ladies. The artistic temperament is so fickle. I must retire now, to continue writing while inspiration strikes.”

Dean fought back a triumphant shout. Now they would need not suffer through an extensive discussion of what they had heard, which surely would have been the case if Metatron stayed. 

“Of course, you must obey your voice of inspiration,” Castiel said. “Thank you again for joining us this evening, my lord.”

“Until next time,” Metatron said, bowing to the room.

Dean looked across the table and met Castiel’s eyes. _Or not_ , he mouthed, and was gratified to see Castiel press his lips together to hold back a smirk of his own.

“Such stirring prose!” Dean exclaimed, signaling to have the wine glasses refilled. “On the subject of recitations, I believe it was recently your eighteenth birthday, Lord Samandriel. Did you enjoy the poetry read in your honour?”

Samandriel flushed at being singled out, but answered readily enough. “I did, Your Grace. Though I did not find it all entirely accurate.”

“What, did they fail to mention the golden curls like a crown upon your noble brow?” Lady Hester teased him, ruffling his hair. “That does seem a missed opportunity.”

Amused laughter broke out as Samandriel’s flush deepened, and the light mood persisted as they finished several more glasses of wine, talking of their own coming of age ceremonies. Slowly, the room began to empty, guests leaving in groups of two or three, all stopping to earnestly thank Dean for bringing these dinners to them.

“I am glad you enjoyed yourself,” Dean told them all. “And I hope to see you here again soon.”

After the last guest had left, Dean raised a hand to his mouth to cover his yawn. “Goodness,” he said, “that was quite the evening.”

Castiel rose to his feet and stretched, the long lines of his body highlighted in the soft glow from the globes above. “A successful one, I think.”

“Hmn?” It took Dean a moment for the comment to register, distracted by the way Castiel’s shoulders moved as he rolled them back. “Yes, successful indeed.”

With a nod and murmured thanks to the attendants who waited to clear the room, Dean and Castiel left the dining chamber, Victor and Charlie falling into step behind them. Dean found himself swaying slightly on his feet, the wine apparently having gone to his head more than he realized. But with concentration, he was able to navigate the short distance to the door to the private corridor, where Victor and Charlie took up their posts, saluting to their respective charges as they did. 

That left Dean and Castiel alone as they made their way through the quiet halls towards the other side of the palace. “You were very bold tonight,” Dean commented, “letting your disdain show that way.”

Castiel gave him a sidelong look. “Do you think the others noticed?”

“No,” Dean replied. “Well, they certainly noticed you insisting that I be included in those last lines. But your earlier sarcasm went unremarked, so I believe you’re safe there.”

A small smile hovered around Castiel’s lips. “I suppose that’s for the best.”

“It is,” Dean agreed. “It’s--” His words were cut off as he stumbled, losing his balance as the edge of his robe caught on his foot. He knew he should not have worn the more formal attire tonight, but he could admit he did occasionally enjoy the robes, especially when he was to be sitting down all night.

Instinctively, Castiel reached out and caught him by the shoulders, steadying him. “Are you alright?” he asked, eyes concerned.

Dean waved him off. “One glass of wine too many, prompted by Metatron’s drivel. Nothing to worry about.”

Castiel let out an undignified snort, but did not release Dean. Instead, he slung Dean’s arm over his shoulder and wrapped his own around Dean’s waist, taking some of his weight as they made their way down the hall. “I cannot fault you for that,” he commented, “though I am amused to see such a mighty warrior of Pellia brought low by a few glasses of wine.”

Scoffing, Dean pushed at him ineffectively. Castiel’s shoulder was solid under his arm, and warmer than Dean would have expected. He relaxed into the hold as they approached Castiel’s chambers, already mourning the loss of contact. It was pleasant, to be so close to someone. He grappled against the guards when they trained together, of course, but that felt very different to being pressed up against Castiel in the dimly lit hall with no one else around.

Dean slowed in front of Castiel’s chamber door, but Castiel did not. “Your rooms,” Dean said. “Are you not--”

Castiel smiled at him, only a hint of teasing in it. “And leave you to stumble back to your own room alone? No, you might get lost. Even with the maps you have memorized, you are in a state of reduced clarity, Dean.”

He ought to have been insulted, and under other circumstances he might have been, but Dean was too touched by the gesture to even respond. Instead, he tightened his hold on Castiel and said nothing at all until they reached his own chamber door.

Gently, Castiel untangled himself, sweeping his eyes over Dean. “You’ll be alright? Should I send Kevin to check on you to make sure you aren’t late for court?”

“I’ll be fine,” Dean insisted. He could not stop staring at Castiel, the way his tunic was rucked up from Dean’s body pressing against him, the way his hair was pushed out to the side from Dean’s arm over his shoulder. The smallest of things, but they made Dean ache in a way he could not explain, a strange sense of satisfaction in having affected him in even these little ways.

He cleared his throat, hoping the flush he could feel on his cheeks could be explained by the wine. “Thank you,” he said. 

Castiel gave him a soft smile. “Of course.” 

Dean had thought him beautiful before, but he was struck by it once again, the sharp lines of his cheeks and jaw, the stunning blue of his eyes, and the softness of his mouth. Involuntarily, Dean swayed forward, catching himself with one hand on the wall at the last possible moment. It had been made very clear to him on their wedding night that Castiel had no interest in the pleasures of the flesh, or at least not in seeking them with Dean. 

So he folded his hands behind his back, where they would not be tempted to reach for what was beyond their grasp, and gave Castiel the best bow he could manage with his unsteady legs. “Goodnight, my lord.”

And Castiel did the same. “Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean shut his chamber door behind himself with a sigh. He sank to the floor, pressing an ear against the solid wood, and listened to the sound of his husband’s footsteps carrying him farther and farther away, until he could not be heard at all.


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel was bored.

There was no real reason why he should be, but he was. It was a perfectly ordinary day: after court, Dean had gone off to take his stroll in the gardens with the courtiers, but Castiel had chosen to retire to his chambers instead. Normally, he would pass the time reading, but nothing seemed to hold his interest. Just as he was considering heading to the library to seek out something new, there was a light knock on his door.

Pulling it open, he was surprised to see his brother standing on the other side. “Gabriel?” he said, frowning. “This is unexpected.”

“The best things in life often are,” Gabriel replied, pushing past him and into the room with the familiarity only an older brother could afford. He sat at the table and cooed at Nyx, who refused to budge from her place in the patch of sunlight by the windows. 

Still frowning, Castiel joined him. “Are you here as a brother, or as the High Priest?”

“Can’t it be both?” Gabriel’s expression turned serious as he folded his arms on the table, the markings on his arm gleaming in the light. “I’ve barely seen you since the wedding, Castiel.”

There was only the gentlest of rebukes in his tone, but Castiel winced regardless. “You’re right,” he said. “I have been….distracted.”

Gabriel cast a sly look at the enormous bed in the far corner of the room. “Oh, that’s entirely understandable.”

Castiel scowled, feeling a flush appear in his cheeks. “Not like that.”

“No?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow at that. “With the far less interesting business of running a kingdom, then?”

“Yes. It has been quite the period of adjustment, to put it mildly.” 

Gabriel tapped his chin thoughtfully, his eyes softening. “I don’t blame you for being otherwise occupied,” he said. “But I do miss the days when you would come storming into the temple to complain about some courtier or another, scaring away all my attendants with your righteous fury.”

Castiel laughed at the memory of such occasions. “But surely your attendants are pleased to have the calm of the temple undisturbed by kingly rages.” 

“I think they miss the excitement. I know I do.” Gabriel grinned at him. “But if you are more settled, I am pleased for you.”

Settled. Castiel was not sure that was the word he would use to describe his current situation. Of course, he did appreciate having Dean’s assistance in dealing with the day-to-day business of ruling, but ever since the wedding, there had been so many changes that it seemed the palace was in a constant state of flux. Whether that was a good or a bad thing remained yet to be seen.

“I am sorry if you have felt neglected,” he said instead. 

Gabriel made a rude noise that would have shocked anyone else to hear, coming from such a supposedly dignified person as the High Priest. “Neglected? Hah! I have business of my own to occupy me, you know. Long hours spent in contemplation in the pool, pondering the miracles of life…”

Castiel raised a sardonic eyebrow at that. “And what could possibly have been so important that you had to tear yourself away from such contemplation in order to come see me?”

“Word has reached me that you’ve been hosting dinners for the court, and frankly, I’m highly offended to not yet have been invited.” Gabriel’s tone was teasing, but his eyes were serious. “You’ve been making a lot of changes, Castiel. And I’ve never known you to be the type to take risks before. I only hope you’re not bending too far to your new husband’s will.”

“Are you-- are you _worried_ about me?” Castiel asked, incredulous. “You think I’m being manipulated?”

Gabriel held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Not anymore. The thought did cross my mind, but you seem so shocked at the very idea that clearly I’ve misinterpreted this entire situation.”

“For goodness’ sake.” Castiel folded his arm over his chest. “Is that what you truly think of me? That I am so weak and malleable as to fall victim to my husband’s pretty eyes and even prettier mouth, and forget my duty to the kingdom, to the people?”

The corner of Gabriel’s mouth lifted in a smirk. “So you think he has pretty eyes?”

Castiel opened his mouth, then shut it again, fixing his brother with a dangerous glare. “That is not the point.”

“No, but it is interesting,” Gabriel mused. “Castiel. This marriage took all of us by surprise. I never expected such a move from you, and I only want to be sure that you are not regretting it.”

“I would have had to marry eventually,” Castiel pointed out. “It happened much more quickly than I anticipated, it’s true, but the results would have been the same.”

“Not if you married someone from Arxelle,” Gabriel replied. 

“Is it such a bad thing, to be challenged on occasion?” Castiel asked softly. “To change?”

“No.” Gabriel shook his head slowly, his eyes sympathetic. “So long as you do not lose yourself along the way.”

Castiel gave a bitter laugh at that. “Lose myself? I gave myself over to the kingdom when I was crowned, Gabriel. Whatever there was of me that existed separately from my position is gone. I am the king, but now I am not the only king. My status has changed, and we must all accept that.”

“Alright.” Gabriel nodded and rose to his feet, clasping Castiel by the shoulder. “I am assured that your mind remains your own, at least.”

“It does,” Castiel told him firmly. “And the kingdom and its prosperity remain my primary concern.”

“Good.” Gabriel paused with his hand on the door, then tossed a grin back over his shoulder at Castiel. “If that is the case, you really ought to invite me to one of your dinners. It would give them a nice sense of legitimacy, to have the High Priest attend, don’t you think?”

“You just want to partake in the food and drink, legitimacy be damned.” Castiel grinned at his brother and his predictability. “But if you insist, I believe I can procure an invitation for you.”

“You are an excellent and indulgent brother!” Gabriel called out as he left the room. 

Castiel laughed at that, but sobered quickly. If he was such an indulgent brother, was he too indulgent of a king as well? He did not believe anything that had changed since Dean’s arrival was of great consequence, but what if Dean was only testing the boundaries, seeing how far he could push Castiel before demanding something greater? 

No, he told himself firmly. There was no arrogance in Dean, no sign of ego run rampant. What he did, he did because he truly thought it was best for the kingdom and for the people. His style of ruling was different than Castiel’s, it was true, but nothing he had asked for had been outside the realm of reason. 

Still, Gabriel’s words were not easy to dismiss. Castiel did not think he had lost himself in any way since his marriage, though he did appreciate that his brother approached the situation from a place of concern for him. If anything, Castiel was more certain of himself, more comfortable with his place as king with Dean by his side. It was a greater relief than he could ever have imagined, having someone to support him, even in the early days when he and Dean were constantly at each other’s throats.

Castiel drummed his fingers against his thigh, restless. Gabriel’s words echoed in his mind, and try as he might, Castiel could not silence them. He needed a distraction.

He found Victor standing at attention at the entrance to the private corridors and gave him a brief salute. “Good afternoon, Captain.”

“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” Victor replied. “How may I be of service?”

Castiel chewed at his lip for a moment before replying. “Might you know where I would find King Dean?”

The briefest flicker of distaste passed over Victor’s features. “I believe he is at the barracks, Your Grace.” 

“Then to the barracks we go,” Castiel said.

Victor fell into step behind him, but Castiel gestured him forward to keep pace as they walked. “You do not like Dean much, do you, Captain?”

“It is not my place to like or dislike him.” Victor’s tone was perfectly polite, but his careful words were answer enough. 

That made two people whose opinions Castiel greatly valued who had expressed some level of distrust or dislike towards Dean today. Frowning, he asked, “And do many others share your opinion, do you think?”

Victor shrugged. “I would not know.”

At that, Castiel had to laugh. “Oh, please. Spare me the act. I know the guards love nothing better than to gossip, even more so than the palace attendants.”

Victor’s normally stoic expression cracked slightly, his eyes alight with merriment. “We do nothing of the sort, Your Grace. But if we did...well, I would say that most of the guards are quite taken with King Dean. He does spend a great deal of time with them, you know.”

Castiel winced. “I know.” Much more time than he himself spent with them. “But then why do you not feel the same?”

Giving him a sidelong look, Victor hesitated. “Permission to speak freely, Your Grace?”

“Of course.”

“I meant what I said. I neither like nor dislike him. He has done little to endear himself to me, but neither has he shown me that he is not be trusted.” Victor shrugged. “I cannot pin him down, and that worries me, Your Grace. People who are unpredictable....they complicate things. It was easier when I only had to worry about you.”

And for the second time that day, Castiel was surprised to be the cause of such concern. It was heartwarming, that his brother and his guard cared so deeply for his well-being, but also somewhat disconcerting. “I am not entirely helpless, you know,” he said. 

“You are not,” Victor agreed. “But I am responsible for your safety, Your Grace. And I do not take that lightly.”

Castiel reached out and clasped him by the shoulder. “I appreciate it more than you know.”

They reached the exit to the barracks and the training ground, all the guards gathered there giving them looks of surprise as they strode out into the sunlight. There were bows for Castiel and salutes for Victor, which they acknowledged politely, but Castiel’s eyes roved over them, attempting to locate Dean. Pushing past the first cluster of guards and further onto the hard-packed ground, Castiel stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before him.

Dean was shirtless, his bare torso glistening with sweat and his tattoos nearly blindingly bright in the light of the sun. The muscles of his back and shoulders worked smoothly as he clung to the doorframe of the stables, lifting his body into the air and then lowering it again, over and over. Judging by the way a small crowd had gathered around him, watching intently, it was some sort of contest, but Castiel had little care for the context of the situation. 

He knew Dean was in excellent physical condition, of course. He had seen the evidence of it on their wedding night, had felt the solidity of Dean’s body beside his every time they stood close to one another. But now, watching the way a rivulet of sweat wound a slow path down the centre of his back, disappearing into the waistband of his trousers above his backside, Castiel could not look away.

Victor cleared his throat politely, and Castiel snapped back to attention. He waited until Dean lowered himself to the ground, exchanging triumphant grins with the guards standing near him, and then approached. 

“Good afternoon, my lord,” he said, fighting to keep his voice level.

Dean startled and turned around quickly, eyes widening as he took in Castiel standing there. “My lord. I did not expect to see you here. Is something the matter?”

All too aware of the curious eyes watching this scene unfold, Castiel folded his hands behind his back and shook his head. “No, not at all. I only wished to see for myself what it is you do when you disappear here nearly every day.”

“He gets his royal arse kicked, that’s what happens,” one of the guards called out. Another elbowed him sharply in the ribs, and Castiel bit back his laughter at their antics.

“In your dreams, Ash!” Dean called back, making a rude gesture at the first guard. It was cheerfully returned, and a chorus of taunts from the other onlookers followed. Dean waved them off, running a hand through his sweat-tousled hair, and turned his attention back to Castiel.

“They do beat me, on occasion,” he admitted. “But I’m getting much better.”

Castiel had no doubt of it. “Good enough to beat me, I wonder?” he teased.

Dean drew back slightly, then laughed. “You?” He looked Castiel up and down, and if his eyes lingered, it was surely only because he was attempting to assess Castiel’s fitness beneath his loose tunic. “I thought you had a guard to do your fighting for you.”

From his position a few steps behind Castiel, Victor snorted loudly. “I’m mostly here to look pretty,” he replied, sending Dean a smile that was all teeth and challenge. “His Grace can handle himself quite well.”

Dean did not look convinced. In truth, it had been some time since Castiel had fought against an actual opponent, but he kept up with his exercises every morning before court. This would be an excellent way to burn off some of the nervous energy that had been thrumming through his veins ever since his conversation with Gabriel.

“Shall we put it to the test?” he offered, smiling broadly at Dean. 

“You really want to--” Dean’s word were cut off as Castiel pulled his tunic over his head and threw it at Dean’s face. One of the guards whistled loudly, and Castiel acknowledged them with a wave before turning back to Dean.

Sputtering to himself, Dean tore the tunic away from his face, eyes wide and widening further as he stared at Castiel. He cleared his throat once, then said, “Right. Very well. Standard rules?”

“As you wish.” Castiel rocked onto the balls of his feet, rolling his neck from side to side as Dean shook his head again, then dropped into a crouch.

Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel could see the guards gathering around them, their earlier jeers now silenced as they watched in anticipation. Dean still had an easy grin on his face, clearly not expecting Castiel to be much of an opponent. 

Castiel would simply have to prove him wrong, then. He lunged forward, and Dean blocked his punch, but Castiel pivoted quickly and kicked out at his knee. Dean grunted, but didn’t fall. They strained against each other for another moment, then Dean swung his own fist at Castiel’s stomach. Castiel’s reflexes took over and he side-stepped the hit, throwing a smug grin at Dean as he did.

“Alright, so you have some ability,” Dean said, his own grin never fading, “and you’re quick. But what if I--”

Castiel’s next blow almost landed, but Dean dropped to the ground to avoid it. He sprang back up, the muscles in his abdomen shifting in interesting ways as he did, and spun a sideways kick towards Castiel’s head. Blocking it with his forearm, Castiel threw Dean off balance, and managed to land a quick punch to his ribs as he did.

From behind him, Castiel heard Victor’s expression of praise. A few of the guards broke into scattered applause, calling out taunts at Dean for allowing himself to be hit. Dean shook them off and circled around Castiel, more warily this time, some of the good humour slipping from his face as he sought an opening.

Dean feinted to the left, and Castiel saw right through it, but then he struck out with surprising speed, catching Castiel on the shoulder. Castiel stumbled back under the force of it, but stayed on his feet. They were not hitting with their full power behind their punches, but Dean’s upper body strength was nothing to laugh at. Castiel would have a bruise there tomorrow, he knew. 

If he had anything to say about it, though, so would Dean. He swung out wildly, hoping to distract Dean with attacks from all directions, but Dean ducked under his fists and kicked Castiel’s legs out from under him. He hit the ground hard, but as Dean stepped closer to continue his attack, Castiel sprang forward and grabbed him around the waist, pulling him down onto the dirt beside him. 

They were both breathing harshly as Castiel fought to pin Dean to the ground, but Dean just laughed as he slid free from Castiel’s hold. Castiel managed to press Dean’s face into the ground for a brief second before he was thrown off, and the smudge of dirt on Dean’s cheekbone was sufficient distraction to allow Dean to land a blow to Castiel’s chest and spring back up, a taunting expression on his face as Castiel followed after him.

It was surprising to Castiel, how well-matched they were. Dean had the advantage of an inch in height and a slightly broader frame, but Castiel was quick and agile and stronger than he appeared. “Let’s finish this,” he said, dropping back onto his heels and raising his arms in front of him. 

“If you insist.” Dean stepped forward and mimicked Castiel’s pose, his arms straining as he fought to force Castiel to his knees. 

Dean’s face was so close to his, his brow furrowed with concentration, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Castiel moved forward, seeking a better angle, and as he did, his thigh came into contact with Dean’s groin.

He froze, muscles locked, feeling the unmistakable press of Dean’s erection against his leg. Dean’s eyes went wide, and he almost stepped back, but when he shifted his hips, it had the unfortunate effect of pressing their lower bodies even closer together.

Castiel could see the second Dean realized Castiel too was hard beneath his trousers. Dean drew in a sharp breath, eyes flying up to meet Castiel’s, and Castiel did not step away. He could not. Not when Dean’s bare chest was pressed so close to his, when their arms were entwined in what could practically be an embrace, when they were touching almost from head to toe.

He could close the last distance between them. Press his face forward a few mere inches and capture Dean’s mouth with his own. He saw Dean’s eyes flick down to his lips and knew his thought were travelling in the same direction. What a way to end this contest between them-- both of them surrendering, both of them victors. Castiel wanted to feel the shape of Dean’s lips beneath his own, to chase the taste of salt on his skin, to run his hands down the glorious expanse of his sun-kissed back and feel Dean sigh against him.

But instead, he slowly lowered his arms and took a deliberate step back. They were surrounded by at least fifty members of the Royal Guard, all watching with keen interest. While Castiel doubted any of them would be truly shocked to their see monarchs exchanging a kiss, he could not bring himself to share such a private moment with that many onlookers. Not for their first kiss. 

The heat in Dean’s eyes slowly faded as Castiel put some distance between them. He swallowed once, his gaze flickering back to Castiel’s mouth, then shook his head.

“Well fought!” Ash called out, breaking the tension. “A most satisfying bout.”

Dean smiled and gave a small wave, accepting a rough piece of cloth from Charlie and scrubbing it over his face. He said nothing to Castiel, didn’t even look at him, before turning and leaving the training ground.

Castiel stared after him, willing himself to move, to chase him down, but his legs would not cooperate. He numbly accepted the congratulatory comments of the guards and drank the water they passed to him, but all he could think about was the feeling of Dean’s body so close to his own.

Victor, as always, provided a much-needed rescue. “I am certain that His Grace will return soon,” he said smoothly, much to the dismay of his fellow guards, “but for now, this session is at an end.”

He gently guided Castiel away from the barracks, picking up the discarded tunic and passing it to Castiel. They made their way back to Castiel’s chambers in silence, and Victor left him at the entrance to the hidden corridor with a low bow. “You did well today,” he said. “This will be talked about it for months to come, you know.”

Castiel gave him a wry smile. “The time the two kings of Arxelle could not defeat one another in combat?”

“The time King Castiel came to the barracks,” Victor corrected gently. “It’s good for them, to see you as human. For all his eccentricities, King Dean has done well in this regard.”

“He has,” Castiel agreed. “Thank you, Victor.”

With another bow and a crisp salute, Victor took up his position beside the door. Castiel closed it gently behind himself, then strode briskly down the hall towards the privacy of his own chambers.

He needed to bathe, to wash away the dust from his skin, to scrub away the phantom feeling of Dean’s hands on his arms. The attendants must have been alerted to his activities and anticipated this outcome, because steam drifted invitingly from the large tub in the small bathing chamber that adjoined his room. Stripping off his dirty trousers, Castiel tossed them aside and climbed into the tub, moaning aloud at the feeling of the warm water on his tired muscles.

Castiel closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the cushioned edge of the tub. Visions of Dean’s sweat-streaked body hovered behind his eyelids, no matter how he tried to shake them off. The way it had felt, being so close to him-- Castiel had never felt such overwhelming desire. His body was responding even at the memory of it, his cock stirring back to life beneath the water.

Biting his lip, Castiel reached down and took himself in hand, his choked-off gasp echoing in the silence of the room. He thrust his hips up, mindlessly chasing his pleasure, increasing the tightness of his grip as he did. It felt good, so good, but he knew it would feel even better if it were Dean’s hand around him, if it were Dean’s broad chest he was braced against, if he had Dean’s voice murmuring in his ear. 

He had never known the touch of anyone’s hand but his own. But Dean would be a considerate lover, he knew. He would be sweet, and careful, and would put Castiel’s pleasure before his own. If only Castiel had followed after him, had waited until they were in the private corridor, had pushed him up against the wall and kissed him like he had wanted to, perhaps they could have been together like this. At that image, Castiel bit down on his lip as he came, spilling out over his fist and shaking with the intensity of his climax. 

Drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, he opened his eyes and stared up at the ornate ceiling, the light globe glowing gently above him. As his heartbeat slowed back to its normal pace, he sighed, all his doubts creeping back in the wake of his release.

Dean had not made a move to kiss him. Dean had not stayed. Dean had walked away from him, not even sparing him a glance over his shoulder. Maybe it was too late to consider introducing a physical aspect to their relationship. Maybe Dean had thought better of it after that disastrous first attempt at seduction on their wedding night. Maybe he was finding pleasure elsewhere-- but not, Castiel did not truly believe that of him. Dean was far too honourable for such deceit. 

Whatever the reason, there was little chance of Castiel’s fantasies becoming reality. He desired his husband, and greatly so, but he had not the faintest idea what to do about it.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean accepted a flask of water from Captain Mills and poured a measure over his face, letting it trickle its way down his neck before sipping at what remained. “Undefeated for the last twelve bouts,” she commented, eyes shrewd. “Are you trying to prove something, Your Grace?”

Shrugging, Dean took another pull from the flask, avoiding her gaze. It had been a week since he and Castiel had sparred on this very ground, and every time he fought another guard, he was reminded of how different it felt than it had when fighting Castiel. He certainly did not suffer any sudden arousal when pressed against Ash or Charlie. 

Even now, a week later, Dean could summon a perfect image of Castiel’s long, surprisingly muscled torso, the breadth of his shoulders and the sharp cut of his hips. He had not expected to see such a figure beneath Castiel’s usual loose clothing, and the intensity of his desire had taken him completely by surprise. Even more surprising had been the moment when he realized he was not alone in his situation, feeling the answering press of Castiel’s erection against his hip. 

But Castiel had pulled away. 

Since then, he had acted like it had never happened, and so Dean followed suit. They continued to handle court sessions with ease, to host their dinners when possible, and to work together mostly amicably. Castiel never mentioned the incident, nor did he return to the training grounds. Likely he was embarrassed by his unruly body’s reaction and did not want to be reminded of his loss of control. Dean remembered all too well what Castiel thought of sex, the way his voice had sounded on their wedding night when he called such activities _base_. Just because his body had reacted to Dean’s nearness did not mean that he had any true wish to follow where it led.

With a start, Dean realized he had not yet answered Captain Mills’ question. “Something to prove?” he repeated, forcing a little laugh. “No, Captain. At least not to anyone but myself.”

She raised an eyebrow at that. “You have been training with us for months now, and have come a long way. Are you not satisfied with what you have learned, what have you achieved?”

Though she was clearly referring only to his progress in unarmed combat, her question struck a chord within Dean, prompting him to reflect on what he had accomplished since arriving in Arxelle. It was a good start, a solid foundation for the type of interactive rule he wished to see brought to life, but there was a great deal more that could be done. 

“There is always more to be learned,” he answered. 

“How philosophical of you.” She gave him a wry smile. “I do believe you are embracing our wisdom along with our style of fighting.”

“If only,” Dean murmured to himself. 

Captain Mills cleared her throat, an unusual deference in her voice when she spoke again. “I only ask because I have a proposition to put to you.”

“A proposition of what sort?” Dean asked warily.

Rolling her eyes, she smacked him on the arm. “Has anyone spoken to you of the training camp in Meridon?”

Dean frowned, frantically searching his brain for any association with that name, but came up blank. Captain Mills sighed and beckoned Charlie forward from where she had been waiting to escort Dean back into the palace. 

“Charlie, you passed the examinations at Meridon, did you not?” Captain Mills asked.

“I did, Captain.” Charlie’s eyes went wide as she looked between Dean and Captain Mills. “Oh, that’s an excellent idea, Captain!”

“What is?” Dean asked, still confused as to what exactly was being discussed.

Charlie grinned brightly at him. “There’s a secondary training camp for the Royal Guard in Meridon, in the south of the kingdom. The Captains there have a reputation for even more roughness than Captain Mills, seeing as they don’t have to defer to the politeness of courtiers and monarchs at all times.”

Dean nodded. “It sounds an interesting place. But what does that have to do with me?”

Captain Mills grinned broadly at them. “You’ve made many friends among the guards here,” she said, “but I thought you might appreciate the chance to make more. They’ll find some way to beat you down again, I’m sure of it.”

The idea had merit. Thus far, Dean had kept himself confined to the palace, not even venturing out into the city beyond. If he truly wished to rule Arxelle, he ought to know the whole land, not just this small piece of it. His ties to the Royal Guard were already well-established, but the journey to Meridon would provide an opportunity to see more of the kingdom, to better understand his new home. 

“I will have to consult with King Castiel, of course,” he said. “But I quite like the sound of this. Charlie, would you accompany me?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Charlie nodded furiously. “I would be thrilled to.”

“Thrilled at an opportunity to see Dorothy again, I wager,” Captain Mills teased, causing Charlie to flush as red as her hair.

Dean laughed and squeezed her shoulder. “Oh, there’s a story there, I can tell. Perhaps you will share it on the journey.”

Charlie scowled at him but made no reply. “Thank you for the suggestion,” Dean said to Captain Mills. “I will discuss it with the king, and give you a proper answer soon.”

She threw him a crisp salute. “I look forward to it, Your Grace.”

There was no real reason to linger, and now that Captain Mills had given him the idea, Dean’s mind was racing with the possibilities of it all. As much as he enjoyed his duties here at the palace, it would be nice to take a short break and to have a change of scenery. But before he allowed himself to get too carried away, he determined he ought to talk to Castiel about the plan.

Castiel was not in his chambers, according to Hannah, which meant he was most likely in the library. Dean had changed quickly before going in search of his husband, but even his softest boots seemed to clatter on the marble floors in that quiet wing of the palace. One of the librarians looked up with a glare at his less-than-subtle entrance, softening quickly when she realized who was making the noise.

“Apologies for the intrusion,” Dean said, pitching his voice low. “Have you seen King Castiel here today, by chance?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Rachel answered. “On the upper level, in the far corner.” She fixed him with a stern glare. “But if you need to speak with him, I would politely request that you take your conversation elsewhere.”

“Of course.” Dean flashed her his most charming grin. “I would not wish to disturb the serenity of this place.”

He found Castiel exactly where Rachel had promised he would be, curled up in a quiet corner with a large book on his lap and two more stacked on the table beside him. In his casual tunic and trousers, with no circlet on his brow, he looked softer, younger somehow. Dean gazed at him for a moment, wondering if this was how he looked before he became king, if this was what his life could have been like had circumstances been different. 

Dean cleared his throat softly, and Castiel looked up at the sound. His eyes widened, and he closed the book with a thump that would surely earn them both a reprimand from the librarians. “Dean?” he asked, his voice a mere whisper. “Is something wrong?”

Dean shook his head, then raised a finger to his lips and beckoned him forward. Castiel gathered his books and returned them at the desk, following after Dean with curiosity writ large upon his face. There was an empty meeting chamber just down the hall from the library, and once they were inside, Castiel turned to Dean and folded his arms across the chest.

“You’re acting very strange,” he said. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, “but I wanted to speak with you, and Rachel made it quite clear that king or not, I would face her wrath if I dared to hold a conversation in her sanctuary.”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth lifted in a smile. “Yes, they can be quite protective of their silence. What is it you wished to speak to me about?”

Dean took a seat and gestured to Castiel to do the same. “I’ve just come from the training grounds,” he explained, “and Captain Mills had an interesting notion. She suggested I might find it worthwhile to take a tour to Meridon and spend some time at the Guard facilities there.”

Castiel tapped his fingers thoughtfully against his chin. It was a distracting motion, emphasizing the size of his hands and the graceful length of his fingers. Dean forced himself to keep his eyes on Castiel’s, lest his thoughts turn in a different direction entirely. 

“It would be good for you,” he said after a long pause. “They take their reputation seriously at Meridon, and they will test you in ways you cannot even imagine.”

Dean leaned forward with interest. “You speak as though from personal experience.”

Castiel shrugged casually, but there was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Where do you think I learned to fight?”

“Truly?” Dean asked, startled. 

“Yes, truly,” Castiel replied. “Long before I had any notion I would one day be king. I was quite upset to leave my studies, but I believe it was worth it, in the end.”

Judging by the way he had nearly beaten Dean in their bout, Dean thought it was worth it as well. “I also thought it might be good for me to see more of the kingdom,” he continued, “to see how people live outside of the palace and the capital city.”

“An excellent idea.” Castiel nodded approvingly. “Yes, there would be many advantages to such a trip.”

Dean drew in a deep breath. Now for the difficult part. “I also hoped, perhaps, you might accompany me.”

Castiel blinked at him, clearly surprised by the invitation. “You hoped--”

“Would it not be good for the people to see the two of us together? To get to know us both as equal partners in the rule of the kingdom?” Dean could picture it well: the two of them riding side by side, their matching coronets glinting on their brows, Castiel’s usual solemnity fading into that surprised smile he wore when someone showed their appreciation for his presence. 

“Well, yes, but--” Castiel hesitated. “Such a trip would require a great deal of planning, Dean. There would be events to organize, hosts to be determined, an itinerary to plan...it would be months before we could even consider such a thing.”

“Oh.” In his excitement, Dean had somehow forgotten how much the Arxellians loved ceremony. Of course a royal tour would be no small matter to them.

“We could certainly begin to plan something,” Castiel offered gently. “It is a fine idea, Dean. I took one short tour immediately after being crowned, but that was two years ago now, and much has changed.”

Dean did not wish to wait to visit Meridon. Were he at home in Pellia, he would simply leap onto his horse and take off for wherever he pleased, and there would be no talk of itineraries or hosts or elaborate events. But he was a king now, and his responsibilities were greater.

“I’ll inform Captain Mills that my journey will have to wait, then.” He did not attempt to disguise the disappointment in his voice. Castiel would read it in the slump of his shoulders regardless.

Steepling his fingers together, Castiel rested his chin upon them and gave Dean a thoughtful look. “No need for that,” he said. “We cannot both be absent from the capital at such short notice, but there is no reason you cannot take your trip as desired. I shall remain here, and see to the business of ruling just as I did before you came to join us.”

His words hit Dean like a slap to the face. Was Dean so expendable, both to Castiel and to the kingdom, that he could be sent away so easily? Had he not proved by now that he was capable, that he was useful, that he took his duties seriously? A string of angry words bubbled to his lips, but he fought them down, tightening his hands into fists beneath the table. 

“Your Grace is most generous,” he said, hearing the tightness in his voice and hating himself for losing control. Again. “If you think that is the best course of action, then by all means, let us proceed with it.”

A hint of a frown appeared on Castiel’s face. “Dean?” he said tentatively. “Have you changed your mind?”

“No.” Dean shook his head firmly. If anything, he was more set on leaving the palace than ever. “No, it is a good plan, as you said. We need not both be here.”

At least among the guards, Dean felt welcome. They had taken him under their wing quickly, and with them, he truly felt that he belonged. He had no doubt that things would be much the same in Meridon, especially if he proved his mettle in a few physical competitions soon after his arrival. Soldiers were easy: they respected strength, and they respected the bonds of kinship formed by fighting together. With them, Dean always knew where he stood.

But with Castiel-- Dean had thought things were going well between them. And now he dismissed Dean so quickly Dean’s head spun from it. Maybe he was excited at the thought of having time to himself again. Maybe he missed the days when his rule was unquestioned, when he did not have to attend court dinners or spend more time talking with his subjects. 

Or maybe he was simply tired of having to see Dean every day. Maybe the thought of a royal progress, so many long hours spent riding together, was horrifying to him, and so he wished to allow Dean to survey the kingdom on his own in the hope of discouraging him from doing so in a joint venture later on. 

Whatever the reason, Dean would not impose his presence on an unwilling husband. He stood and offered Castiel a brief bow. “Very well, then. I have preparations to make.”

Though his brow was still creased with confusion, Castiel rose and did the same. “Of course,” he said. “If there is anything you need--”

“I’m sure I will be fine on my own.” It was a parting shot, tossed over his shoulder as Dean swept from the room, but he did not look back to gauge Castiel’s reaction. He was too busy keeping his own emotions in check until he could properly vent his frustration in the privacy of his own chamber.

Charlie snapped to attention when he emerged, her eyes hopeful. “Are we going to Meridon?”

“We are,” Dean told her. He forced a smile, praying she would not see how bitter it was. “You shall see your Dorothy soon.”

Her answering grin was brighter than the light globes above them. Despite his own misery, Dean could not find it in himself to begrudge her that happiness. “Why don’t you go inform Captain Mills of our decision, and you can begin to plan?” he suggested. “The sooner we start the process, the sooner we can leave.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Charlie saluted enthusiastically. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

She trotted off to the barracks, and Dean fled to the privacy of the quiet corridor, his boots clicking against the floor as he hurried back to his chambers. There would be things to pack, letters to be sent ahead with messengers, provisions to be gathered, but between Captain Mills and the palace attendants, all of that would be seen to. 

In the meantime, he and his wounded pride were left alone. Dean shut his chamber door behind himself and sat heavily on his bed, dropping his face into his hands. This was not how he wanted this trip to take place. He only had himself to blame, though, he and his wild imagination, running rampant with notions about the way he and Castiel could have spent the time away. But it was clear to him now that Castiel harboured no such dreams of his own. 

Perhaps, in the end, this trip would be good for Dean. It would give him room to breathe, to come to terms with the truth of his relationship with his husband. Castiel had come to tolerate his presence, Dean knew, and they worked well together, but he seemed glad enough to be rid of Dean at the first opportunity. If he had truly desired to take a tour with Dean, he would have persuaded him to postpone his trip to Meridon rather than suggesting he take it alone. 

So Dean would leave. He would focus his energy on gaining the trust and the admiration of the people of Arxelle, on learning more about them in order to be a better ruler to them. Castiel could sit here and rot on his lonely throne, for all Dean cared.

Thanks to the excellent coordinated efforts of the Royal Guard and the palace attendants, Dean was ready to leave the very next morning. He rose with the sun and made his way to the stables, carrying one small pack, Kevin trailing behind with another. Everything else would already be loaded in the wagon waiting for them. He would be accompanied by Charlie, of course, and also by Ash and Tara. By all standards, it looked to be a promising trip.

But Dean was still miserable. He had not seen Castiel at all since he left him in the meeting chamber the afternoon before, and foolishly, he had waited half the night for a knock at his door. Now, emerging blinking into the bright morning sunlight, it seemed Castiel had not even deemed it necessary to come say farewell to Dean. How the courtiers would gossip-- it was the polite thing to do, to see a spouse off before a long journey, and it was not at all like Castiel to fail to be courteous.

Mouth twisting into a grimace, Dean shook hands with Ash and Tara and offered a brisk salute to Captain Mills. “Thank you for preparing this so quickly,” he said.

She returned his salute crisply, but her eyes were warm. “The sooner you go, the sooner you can come back to us.”

It was a kind sentiment, and one that Dean appreciated greatly. “It will be strange, taking direction from a Captain other than yourself,” he said.

“I think you’ll like Captain Hanscum.” Captain Mills smiled mischievously. “And please do pass on my best regards.”

“Of course.” Dean gave her a brief bow, then turned to say his farewells to Kevin, who would remain behind at the palace in Dean’s absence.

“Make sure to polish my coronet every night,” he said, planting his hands on his hips. “I will want it gleaming and ready to be worn upon my return.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Kevin made a low bow. “Do you have any further instructions?”

Dean smiled gently at him and clapped him on the back. “Enjoy yourself,” he said. “Go visit your mother and let her stuff you with treats. Relax. You’ve done well, these past months. You have earned a respite.”

Kevin’s eyes went wide. “Thank you, Your Grace. I will do my best.”

“You always do,” Dean said fondly. He would miss Kevin. 

Captain Mills cleared her throat politely. “Everything is in readiness for your departure. We await Your Grace.”

Dean swung himself him up into the saddle of the fine, glossy black gelding that had been brought for his use. No horse would ever replace his own Impala in his affections, but Corvus was a fine mount, and Dean looked forward to spending the next few days in the saddle. It would be a nice change from his daily routine.

Just as he was about to give the signal to ride out, there was a commotion in the doorway and Captain Henriksen pushed his way through the assembled crowd. Dean’s heart gave a funny little leap in his chest, knowing that where Victor appeared, Castiel could not be far behind. 

Dean slid back down from Corvus’ back without a second thought. Castiel pushed his way through the crowd and came to a halt in front of him, and for the second time in the span of their married days, Dean wished they did not have an audience watching their every move.

“You’re late,” he said.

Castiel’s face remained impassive, but a glimmer of humour showed itself in the slight quirk of his lips. “Forgive me,” he replied, voice grave. “I did not think you would be so prompt in your departure.”

“Well.” Dean licked his lips, suddenly gone dry. “As Captain Mills so eloquently said, the sooner I leave, the sooner I shall return.”

“Eloquent indeed.” Castiel clasped his hands before him. “I wish you safe travels, my lord.”

He was as perfectly polite as ever, and Dean wanted nothing more than to shake him, to snap him out of his long-ingrained royal poise and ask him what he truly felt about Dean’s departure, if he was holding back his glee at the prospect of being left to his own devices for a few weeks. And yet, he had come to see Dean off. Was it out of a sense of duty, or because he truly wished to bid him farewell? Strangely, it made Dean miss the early days of their marriage, when they fought constantly but at least showed some emotion towards one another. He knew how to argue, how to match Castiel’s ire with his own, but this? This he did not understand.

The best he could do was attempt to match it. “Thank you, my lord,” he replied. “I will have word sent once we arrive.”

“Thank you.” Castiel hesitated, as though he were about to say something else, but Corvus whinnied behind them, and he smiled ruefully instead. “Your horse grows impatient.”

“Then I ought not to offend him before I plan to spend several weeks in close company with him,” Dean said. 

“A wise decision.” Castiel nodded again, then took a step back. “Farewell, Dean.”

Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat as he swung himself back into the saddle. “Farewell, Your Grace.”

With a wave of his hand, they were off, winding their way down the smooth road that led from the stables around the palace and towards the bridge to the city. Dean turned in the saddle to wave one last goodbye, and saw Castiel raise his arm in return, the tattoos on his arm shining in the sunlight. Then, patting Corvus lightly on the neck, Dean set his sights on the road ahead.


	13. Chapter 13

For the first two days, Castiel did not leave his chambers other than to hold court. 

There were whispers, of course, and sidelong glances every time he dismissed the courtiers and strode away without another word. He ignored them all. He did not want to know what they were saying about him, but he could imagine it easily enough: that he slipped so easily back into his old habits, that he could not do this without Dean anymore, that they would have preferred that Dean stayed and Castiel left. 

In reality, there was nothing remarkable about him taking two days without joining Dean and the courtiers in the gardens, or without venturing to the library to pass an afternoon reading. It was only because of Dean’s absence that his actions were cause for gossip.

So, on the third day, when he rose smoothly from the throne and announced that he would be taking a stroll in the gardens, his statement was met with more than a few surprised looks. Whether it was mere curiosity or genuine interest that prompted a reasonably-sized group to follow him outdoors, he could not say, but it was affirming either way.

Once on the garden path, Castiel was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by Billie and Pamela, who hurried forward to speak with him. “I had not realized you had returned,” he said, giving them a slight bow. “I trust you had a pleasant journey, and that you left everyone at the Pellian court in perfect health.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Pamela winked at him. “We would settle for nothing less.”

“We hoped to convey a message to King Dean, but I see he is not a court.” Billie’s gaze swept assessingly over Castiel. “With your permission, we will retire to rest, and make our report to both of you at a later date.”

“Of course. You must be tired from your travels.” Castiel made another bow and waved them on their way, noting with a slight smile the way their hands twined together as they walked.

His smile faded as Lord Zachariah spoke up. “It is good to see you taking an interest in things again, Your Grace.”

Castiel arched an eyebrow at him. “I have never stopped doing so, my lord.”

“Well, yes, of course. An active interest, then, shall we say,” Zachariah replied.

“Rest assured that you and the rest of the court are never far from my mind, whether I am present or not.” Castiel gave him his most pleasant smile despite his irritation. 

“I have no doubt of it,” Lord Samandriel said eagerly, cutting between them. “Thank you for the books you had sent to my chambers, Your Grace. I found them most illuminating.”

What a blessing Lord Samandriel’s innocent goodness was. Castiel’s smiled softened, shifting into something genuine, as he turned away from Zachariah to focus on the younger courtier instead. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed them,” he said. “Which of them was your favourite?”

“Oh, I couldn’t choose!” Samandriel laughed. “I did especially enjoy the treatise on the mountain cats, though. They are most fascinating creatures.”

“You have a mountain cat, do you not, Your Grace?” Lady Tessa asked, her eyes alight with curiosity. “I have never seen one, but I too enjoyed the book you speak of. Is it accurate, would you say?”

Castiel smiled to himself, thinking of Nyx and her particular quirks of personality. “I only have one example to draw upon,” he said, “but yes, overall, I would agree with his assessment. They are aloof and distrustful of strangers, but if they accept you as a friend, they are fiercely protective, and can be quite playful if in the proper mood.”

“Might we be able to meet your Nyx?” Samandriel asked shyly. “For academic purposes, of course.”

“That would be wonderful,” Tessa chimed in. 

“I admire your intellectual curiosity,” Castiel said gently, “but I will make no promises in that regard. We could arrange some sort of attempt, but the conditions would have to be carefully controlled. She is, as I mentioned, quite distrustful of strangers.”

Both Samandriel and Tessa visibly deflated, but nodded in acceptance. “Will you tell us more about her, then?” Tessa asked hopefully. “First-hand accounts are nearly as valuable as personal observations.”

There were worse ways to spend an afternoon than strolling in the gardens telling tales of his pet. Castiel shrugged and launched into the story of how, as a kitten, Nyx had managed to get herself shut on the balcony for an entire day.

Later, as the courtiers began to leave in small groups, Castiel said his goodbyes with a smile on his face. Their farewells to him seemed more genuine than they ever had been before, and more than one of them thanked him for spending his day with them. As he watched the last of them make their way back towards the palace, he could not help but wonder what Dean would say, were he there.

He hoped he would be proud.

After a week, Castiel felt he had a handle on balancing his intense desire for privacy with his responsibilities to his subjects. Every other day, he took his walk in the gardens, and the courtiers seemed satisfied with this arrangement. The group varied, as it always did, which allowed him some distance from the more annoying of them.

The court sessions themselves proved to be as uneventful as ever until the tenth day after Dean’s departure. The moment he entered the Grand Hall, he felt the tension in the air, thick and dark like coiling smoke. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Victor, who gave a nearly imperceptible shrug in return. Taking a deep breath, Castiel ascended the dais and settled onto his throne, raising a hand to begin the proceedings.

The traditional greeting had barely left his mouth before Lady Bela pushed her way forward, elegant as ever but with a look of pure calculation on her face. “Your Grace, we have heard the most distressing news,” she began. “Concerning your husband.”

Castiel’s blood ran cold, and he squeezed the arm of his throne, fighting to maintain his control. If anything had happened to Dean-- but no. The Royal Guard kept its own fleet of messengers, the fastest in the land, and if anything was amiss, Victor would know, and would have informed Castiel immediately. Surely, there was some mistake.

Bela drew out her tale slowly, clearly relishing the way the entire room hung on her every word. “He has been away for some time now, has he not?”

“No longer than we anticipated,” Castiel replied as calmly as he could. “I received word from him that he had arrived in Meridon three days after leaving here, just as expected.”

“And you have not heard from him since, have you?” Bela’s eyes gleamed in the light from the globes overheard.

“I imagine he is busy doing what he journeyed there to do: training.” Castiel’s fingers were going numb, clenched so tightly around his throne, but he ignored the creeping pain and focused on remaining impassive. “It seems you have heard different reports, however.”

“Yes.” Bela nodded, her face taking on a look of sympathy that was utterly alien to her features. “The rumour is, he’s enjoying himself so greatly, he plans to stay there indefinitely.”

The Grand Hall went utterly silent in the wake of her words. Castiel closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, then opened them to look about the room, gauging the courtiers’ reactions to Bela’s words. Most of them looked surprised, some distressed, and a worrying number looked nothing but intrigued, as though the scandal of it all outweighed the potential implications for the future of the kingdom. 

A spark of anger lit itself in Castiel’s chest. “And what source do you have for these rumours, my lady?” he asked.

Bela shrugged gracefully. “I cannot say.”

“Then you ought to pay them no heed whatsoever.” Castiel knew his voice was harsh, harsher than he normally allowed it to be in public, but he felt it best to settle this matter quickly and completely. “You are well-trained in research, Lady Bela. Have you forgotten the importance of verifying your sources before making such grand claims?”

Rather than flushing with shame at being scolded so publicly, Bela only smiled. “Of course, Your Grace. The veracity of this statement cannot be determined, it is true. However…” She let the words dangle in the air, every body in the room straining towards her. “True or not, they do present us with an interesting thought experiment. If King Dean were to establish a second court at Meridon, would you permit him to do so?”

The room broke out into startled shouts, and Castiel slumped back on his throne, cursing himself for not having seen this coming. Bela was a master tactician, a fearsome opponent in any debate, and she had led him right to this precipice. It would take all he had to cling to some sense of control.

Castiel raised his hand in the air and waited for commotion to die down. “Please,” he said, “let us discuss this rationally.” He fixed Bela with a cool stare. “Lady Bela presents an interesting question, but I must stress that this is entirely hypothetical. I have received no indication that King Dean has any plans to distance himself from the capital or from any of us.”

“Why would he?” Lord Samandriel asked, crossing his arms over his chest and jutting out his chin as he looked at Bela. “What reason would he have?”

It was like watching a kitten attempt to swipe at a fully-grown cat, but the show of support encouraged Castiel regardless. “Indeed,” he said. “What reason? King Dean has been with us for months now, and has come to know many of you quite well. He has made strides towards making our court a more welcoming and open environment. Why throw that all away?”

“Perhaps it was only practice,” Lord Bartholomew suggested. “For establishing a new court in the south. Testing out policies and seeing what worked and what didn’t, so he could replicate the experiment elsewhere.”

“Or perhaps he was only biding his time,” Zachariah added. “Filling his days here with whatever amused him until he could move on to greener pastures.”

“It does seem convenient,” Lord Raphael said, voice as cool and smooth as ever. “That King Dean has spent so much time with the Royal Guard, and has now left to be among them. If he were attempting to build a base of support, that would be an excellent way to begin.”

The more they spoke, speculating wildly about things they had no real knowledge of, the more Castiel’s anger grew. But he allowed them to present their opinions, since that was the Arxellian way. Only when the steady stream of opinions halted to a trickle did he raise his hand once more and address the room.

“Your concerns have all been heard and noted,” he said. “And this is what I say in response to them.”

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and injected as much conviction into his voice as he could. “I do not believe that King Dean has any plans to remove himself from the capital or from his place here. This journey to Meridon was suggested to him by Captain Mills as a way to further his training in our style of combat, which he has dedicated himself to learning in the months since we were wed. And that in itself, more than anything else, speaks to his character.”

Castiel paused for a moment, then continued. “Since he first took his place beside me here on this throne, King Dean has devoted himself fully to the kingdom, and to all of you. Any changes he has made to our customs have been borne of his keen interest in seeing Arxelle happy and prosperous. I cannot, and I will not, believe that he would ever do anything to jeopardize that. He will return from Meridon as promised, and you will all be ashamed of yourselves for ever thinking otherwise.”

He leveled Bela with a particularly unimpressed look. “Until that time, I suggest you keep your unfounded theories to yourselves. Wild rumours have no place in these halls.”

Though she did not look at all cowed or swayed by his words, Bela inclined her head slightly. Castiel hoped it signaled her agreement in this matter. He waited another moment, fearful that some other voice would be raised, but no one spoke. 

“Very well. Go with good fortune, and more discretion than you have shown this day.” Castiel rose, back stiff, and crossed the floor to the exit. There would be no walk in the gardens, not after this. 

Victor escorted him back to his chambers in silence, though he occasionally glanced at Castiel as though waiting for him to explode. It was not until Victor offered his salute and turned to leave that Castiel spoke.

“Do you believe it?” he asked.

He did not want to admit the possibility, even to himself. But now that it had been raised, he could not stop thinking about it. He and Dean had not parted on the best of terms, and perhaps the south offered respite from the stifling atmosphere of the capital. 

Victor took a moment to reply, and in that moment, Castiel’s heart plummeted in his chest. “No,” Victor said eventually. “No, I do not believe it.”

The air left Castiel’s lungs in a noisy rush. “Thank you,” he said. “May I ask why?”

A slight smile appeared on Victor’s face. “Well, for one thing, Captain Hanscum would never permit such a thing to happen under her supervision.”

“Despite the friendly rapport Dean has established with the guards?” More than any other, Raphael’s theory had taken up residence in Castiel’s mind. If Victor could dislodge it with his usual dispassionate logic, he would be most grateful. 

“Especially because of it,” Victor said. “The guards are loyal to the kingdom, not to whoever wears the crown. They have been pleased that Dean has taken such an active interest in them, but if he ever presumed to take their support as encouragement for this kind of behaviour, they would not hesitate to stop him.”

He paused, then gave a bitter snort of laughter. “And besides-- for all his eccentricities, King Dean has never struck me as a dishonorable man. He came here to save his brother’s life, knowing he might have to sacrifice his own in pursuit of that goal. I do not believe he would ever consider something as grievous as open rebellion.”

Castiel nodded slowly. “Thank you,” he said again. “You have given me much to think about. Please spread the word that I am not to be disturbed for the rest of the day.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Victor saluted crisply and strode away soundlessly down the hall.

After he disappeared from sight, Castiel entered his chamber and threw himself down on his bed. Nyx crept out from the corner and came to join him, pushing her face against his shoulder, her rumbling purr a comfort against the silence of the room. He lazily stroked a hand down her back as he thought back on the arguments raised by his courtiers.

He did not wish to believe them. While Victor’s support had gone a long way towards easing his concerns, they had not vanished entirely. Logically, there were reasons to be concerned, reasons to think that this was a situation that could arise.

But logic did not account for Dean. Charming, unpredictable, dutiful Dean. Were it someone else, someone who wore ambition like a second skin, Castiel would be very worried indeed. But everything he had said about Dean in front of the court, he believed with all his heart. Dean’s primary concern was the well-being of the kingdom. Much, Castiel realized, the way it had once been the well-being of his younger brother. Dean would risk everything to save Sam, which was how he ended up a king of Arxelle in the first place. It would take something beyond mere grasping for power to divert him from that course now.

Unless, of course, he truly believed that splitting the court would be in the best interest of the kingdom. If he thought what he was doing was right, would he make such a move? Once, Castiel might have said yes. But their communication had improved greatly since the early days of their marriage, and he did not think Dean would do anything so bold without consulting him first. Not now.

Slowly, Castiel stood from the bed and crossed the room to the desk in the corner. He took a blank sheet of parchment and a quill, beginning to write without even considering his words.

_Dean,_

_Lady Bela spoke in court today. She said she had heard that you plan to stay in Meridon indefinitely and mean to set up a second court there. I do not believe you would do such a thing, but many of the courtiers were greatly distressed at the thought, and gave the matter far more serious consideration than it deserved. They said you have been biding your time, building up support among the Royal Guard, and that you mean to never return to Telise._

_I do not want to believe them. I want to believe in you._

Castiel paused for a moment. The words seemed so stark when spelled out on the page, but if he wanted to convey his urgency, they were fitting. He worried the tip of the quill between his teeth for a moment, then continued.

_I have no desire to cut your visit to Meridon short, and to ask you to do so would be to give in to the fear and suspicion they clearly wished to raise in me. All I ask is that you return as promised. Do not extend your trip, not now. If you need to return at a later date, you may to do so, as soon and as frequently as you desire. But this is a situation I never expected to have to handle, and one that would never have arisen had you not left._

No, that sounded as though he was blaming Dean, as though this was somehow his fault. Castiel crossed out the last line and tried again. 

_I find myself in a situation I am ill-equipped to handle. Is this something you were trained to expect? I can scarcely believe my supposedly wise courtiers would give credence to these rumours, and yet here we are. If you were here, we would have laughed at this together, I’m sure._

He could imagine it perfectly: the look of complete disbelief on Dean’s face if someone dared to suggest that he would do anything so rash, the way his mouth would tighten, showing his dimples in the opposite of mirth. The way he would respond politely to any comments, but would make it quite clear how he truly felt about them. And then they would exchange a look of shared disdain, rolling their eyes at one another and knowing the others were too far to see it.

Castiel pressed a hand to his chest against the ache that grew there. It was not only that he wished Dean were here to put these rumours to rest. He missed him, simple as that. It should not have been such an earth-shattering realization, but Castiel sat back in his chair, the quill falling from his hand, as he allowed himself to acknowledge it.

He missed Dean. He wanted Dean to return as quickly as possible. He wanted to know what Dean was thinking this moment and every moment since they had parted. Did he think of Castiel? And if so, in what way? Fondly, or with gladness to be rid of him?

His hand trembled slightly, but Castiel picked his quill back up.

_The best way to eradicate these rumours would be to show the court, and the kingdom as a whole, that we are united in our commitment to Arxelle. That we stand together, and that this trip was nothing more than a way for you to further your training, with no treasonous agenda behind it. Once you return, everything will sort itself out, I’m sure of it._

_Just please come home._

Castiel stared down at the page. This was not a letter from one ruler to another. This was the innermost yearning of his heart, torn from his chest and set down on the page. It was a relief, finally bringing those feelings to light, but it also made him vulnerable. 

Rising to his feet, he took the letter in hand and stepped out onto the balcony. There was a brisk wind that afternoon, the flags fluttering in its wake. Slowly, methodically, Castiel tore the letter into tiny scraps of parchment and let the wind pull them from his hands.

He watched as they tumbled through the air until he could no longer see them. Turning towards the south, he traced the curve of the river as it swept down from the mountains. Somewhere, so far away, Dean was likely working hard, putting himself through a series of drills with a smile on his face. 

Castiel sighed and closed his eyes. “Please come home,” he whispered, hoping the wind would carry his words across the miles and to Dean’s ears.


	14. Chapter 14

The sun was just beginning to set when Dean caught his first glimpse of Telise. It was strange, to see it from this angle, and it provoked a mix of emotions Dean wasn’t entirely ready to grapple with quite yet. Mostly, he was glad they would soon be done with their journey.

The two-day ride from the south felt far longer than it had on the way there. It was difficult to believe that it had only been three weeks since he left, considering how much had occurred in that time. Three weeks of the most intensive physical training Dean had ever undergone, bookended by visits to all the small towns and villages along the route from Telise to Meridon, and punctuated with a few regrettable nights drinking far too much ale with the guards. 

“Are you happy to be back?” Charlie asked, guiding her horse up beside Dean. 

Dean shrugged. “Yes and no. I will miss the new friends I made, but it will be good to see the ones I left behind.”

Charlie grinned at that. “You’re speaking like a courtier again, sir.”

“And you’ll have to remember to address me as Your Grace, once we’re back at the palace,” Dean shot back. He’d enjoyed the less formal atmosphere at the barracks, the way it only took two days before everyone there abandoned the use of his proper title. He could only imagine the looks of dismay on the faces of several of the more traditional courtiers if they heard Charlie address him in such a fashion.

She made a face, but inclined her head stiffly. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Dean sighed, but he knew it was good for them to become re-accustomed to the stricter protocols observed at court. Especially considering the mildly alarming letter he had received from Castiel concerning the situation they were riding towards.

It had been brief, and dispassionate, more like a news bulletin than a personal correspondence. But reading it, Dean had felt his heart sink in his chest. Curse Lady Bela and her venomous tongue. The idea of him attempting some sort of coup with the backing of the Royal Guard was so absurd it almost made Dean laugh, but Castiel had listed a significant number of courtiers who appeared at least somewhat swayed by Bela’s speech. He would have to quiet those rumours, swiftly and firmly.

As the miles fell away under their horses’ feet, Dean’s apprehension grew. Castiel had not mentioned his own reaction to the rumours, only that they existed. Surely he would not believe them, would not believe that of Dean. But if he did, if this whole journey had given him cause to doubt Dean’s commitment to the kingdom, it would take a great deal of effort on Dean’s part to convince him of the truth: that Dean had never been more dedicated to his role as king. Meeting the people outside the capital had been just as enriching and enlightening as he had hoped, and he could not wait to take a full progress alongside Castiel sometime in the near future.

Assuming, of course, that he was not ousted from his seat on the throne.

Dean continued to brood as they closed the last stretch of road leading into the capital. There were few people on the streets, most having already retired to their homes for the evening, but those who were there watched in wide-eyed silence as Dean led his party towards the palace. He offered smiles and waves, but was given none in response. 

At least the guards at the gate seemed happy to see them, greeting Dean politely and exchanging teasing remarks with Charlie. This would not go a long way towards convincing the courtiers that Dean was not fostering support among the guards, he thought sourly as they clattered across the bridge.

A group of stablehands awaited them there, leading the horses and wagons away, while Dean and Charlie entered the palace on foot. As the heavy doors swung open, Dean took a deep breath and schooled his features into a neutral expression. 

Castiel was waiting for them just inside, wearing robes of dark grey, a circlet on his brow. His hands were hidden by the folds of fabric, and his face betrayed no emotion whatsoever as he looked at Dean.

Swallowing roughly, Dean made a low bow. “Hello, my lord.”

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was just as deep as he remembered it, but there was a new note in it, something that Dean could not identify. He took a cautious step forward, unclear as to what the correct way to greet his husband was, and then threw all caution to the wind, pulling Castiel into an embrace.

Castiel stiffened in his arms, then slowly brought his arms up around Dean in return. His heart was beating very fast, Dean noted, and when he stepped back, Castiel looked almost like he missed the contact.

There were only a few courtiers lingering in the background, but Dean knew word would spread quickly. If ever there was a time to present a united front, it was now. So he reached down and gently brushed Castiel’s hand with his own, asking silent permission. Castiel nodded and entwined his fingers with Dean’s. 

“It is good to be home,” Dean said, pitching his voice loud enough to be heard by all. “I have enjoyed my time in the south, but I am happy to be here once more.”

“And I am happy to have you here,” Castiel replied. “Come. You must be tired from your journey.”

He did not drop hold of Dean’s hand all the way through the room and down the hall towards one of the smaller audience chambers, ignoring the whispers that followed in their wake. Once the door was shut behind them, Victor and Charlie standing guard outside, Castiel exhaled noisily and dropped into a chair.

“Has it truly been so hard?” Dean asked, sitting beside him. Castiel looked exhausted, with deep lines at the corners of his mouth and dark circles under his eyes. 

“Every day, the sly comments about being left alone,” Castiel muttered. “About my husband preferring the company of the guards to that of the courtiers. They’re petty, small-minded, jealous fools.”

“All of them?” Dean did not want to hear it, but he needed to know. 

“No.” Castiel softened slightly as he said it. “No, there are many others who will be glad to see you back.”

Dean shifted in his seat, the question hovering on the tip of his tongue. “And are you one of them?”

Castiel frowned at him. “Of course I am. Did I not say so?”

“I was not sure if you meant it, or if that was merely for the benefit of anyone listening,” Dean admitted.

“I meant it.” Castiel’s reply was quick, and it sounded sincere. He hesitated for a moment, eyes flicking over Dean’s face, then swallowed and said, “I missed you.”

An unexpected warmth spread through Dean’s chest. He coughed lightly, trying to summon the courage to offer the same words in return, but a knock on the door stopped him from speaking.

“Enter,” Castiel called out, and the door swung open to reveal Kevin, carrying a tray of food that he deposited on the table.

“Welcome back, Your Grace,” Kevin said, bowing to Dean. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you, Kevin,” Dean replied. “Thank you.”

Kevin bowed again, hovering in the doorway. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, thank you,” Castiel answered, and with a brief nod, Kevin left the room.

Dean was grateful for the food, both because he was hungry after his travels and because it offered a distraction from the previous topic of conversation. “You’ve observed the mood at court over the past weeks,” he said instead. “What would be our best way to dispel these rumours once and for all?”

“You’ve made a good start, with your display earlier.” Castiel’s voice was cool and dispassionate once more, not meeting Dean’s eyes as he nibbled at a slice of bread. “But we need a larger audience.”

Though he frowned at Castiel’s use of the word _display_ , as though Dean’s actions were only an act, he did not comment on it. “Tomorrow morning at court, then. Before anyone else has a chance to speak. I will address these rumours head-on.”

“The more extreme of your detractors will not believe you,” Castiel warned, “but nothing we do or say would convince them. It is the ones who are undecided that we have to persuade.”

Dean sighed, rubbing at his forehead. Things had been so much simpler in the south. But as his mother used to tell him, the hardest things in life were often the most worthwhile. “And how am I to accomplish that?” he asked.

Castiel gave him a wry smile. “I have faith in you.”

The warm feeling in Dean’s chest returned, stronger than ever. He saluted Castiel with his cup of wine, silently praying that his trust would not be misplaced.

The next morning, Dean was awake long before Kevin came to help him dress. Kevin’s eyes widened in surprise when he saw Dean perched at the foot of his bed, but he began pulling out options for the day’s attire in silence, for which Dean was grateful.

“Not that,” Dean said as Kevin held up a dark green tunic with gold embroidery at the neck. “The robes.”

Kevin frowned. “Your Grace, you haven’t worn the ceremonial robes to court since--”

“I know,” Dean snapped, and then immediately regretted it. Kevin did not deserve to bear the brunt of his anger and apprehension. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. 

Kevin pursed his lips and made no reply, but drew out a robe of stunning scarlet and held it up for Dean’s inspection. “Red is the colour of your family’s crest, is it not?”

“It is.” Dean had no idea how Kevin knew that, but he was touched by the gesture regardless. He hesitated, reaching out to stroke the soft cloth. “You don’t think it will be misinterpreted, though?”

“By those who wish to twist every word and every action to their own ends, perhaps.” Kevin shrugged loosely. “I prefer to see it as an acknowledgement of where you came from, but also of where you are now. And I do not believe I will be alone in that.”

Dean rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it in thanks. “Very well, then. I defer to your superior judgment.”

Kevin nodded in satisfaction and began the long process of draping the robe around Dean’s body. When it was done, he gave him a critical look, then slid a heavy gold circlet around Dean’s brow, the metal thicker than most of his others.

“This is new,” Dean commented, reaching up to touch it.

“King Castiel had it sent over,” Kevin said. “It belonged to his grandfather. He thought it might suit you.”

Glancing at himself in the mirror, Dean had to agree. He looked regal, capable, and, if he was being entirely honest, quite dashing. 

“Then let us go see what the court thinks,” he murmured.

He swept down the hallways towards the Grand Hall, and for once, he arrived before Castiel. Whatever teasing remark he planned to make died on his lips as Castiel rounded the corner in a robe of blue so rich it shone under the lights. If Dean was making a statement in his attire, then Castiel was echoing it perfectly. 

“Good morning,” he managed. 

“Good morning.” Castiel gave him a slow look, taking in the robe and the circlet. A satisfied smile spread across his face. “Shall we quiet these malcontents once and for all?”

Dean smirked in reply. “Yes, we shall.”

They entered the Grand Hall hand-in-hand. The whispers quieted as they settled onto their thrones, though Dean noticed many in the crowd trading looks of interest. No matter the outcome, this would be a court session that would long be remembered by all present.

So he ensured his voice was steady as he rose and began the proceedings. “May the light of wisdom shine ever on you,” he said. “I am pleased to be here with you once again, though it distresses me to learn that in my absence, wild rumours have spread concerning my time away from you all.”

Castiel rose to his feet beside him, not saying anything but offering wordless support as Dean continued. “As you can see, I have returned precisely on schedule, and am here as expected. Frankly, it is an insult that you would suggest my priorities lie elsewhere, but I am willing to overlook that, if you are all prepared to move forward together.”

“This has been a difficult time for all of us,” Castiel said, picking up where Dean left off. “A time of transitions, as we all accustom to changes in the palace and the kingdom at large. But we must go through these changes in good faith, not with suspicion and whispers.”

“And in light of that, I will address the rumours directly, rather than talking around them.” Dean took a deep breath and held the gaze of several members of the crowd. “I have no plans to distance myself from this city and this palace. My training with the guards is complete, and I am grateful to have had that opportunity, but it has nothing to do with any sort of desperate grab for more power than I have been granted.” He snuck a look at Castiel, who was watching him with approval. “This is my place. Here, with all of you, at King Castiel’s side.”

He watched as smiles and nods spread through the crowd, only a few figures still glaring and keeping their arms crossed over their chests. Dean curled his lips into a roguish smile and said, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd, and Dean even heard a light round of applause. He glanced at Castiel, smile still in place, and was pleased to note the look of relief on his face.

“Now, is there anything else we ought to address today?” Castiel asked. 

There were few questions or concerns raised during the open session, but as soon as Castiel concluded it, half the crowd remained behind, watching Dean and Castiel eagerly. “See, they missed you,” Castiel murmured as they climbed down from the dais. 

“I’m sure you had crowds of your own,” Dean replied.

Castiel gave a little shrug, but his eyes shone with pride. “More than I expected.”

“Good.” Dean reached out for his hand and steered him towards the doors. “Because we’re going to have to share all this attention if we want to return indoors before dark.”

Glancing back at the gaggle of courtiers trailing after them, Castiel sighed. “Have I mentioned how glad I am that you are back?”

“Once or twice,” Dean teased. “But it bears repeating.” Castiel rolled his eyes, but tightened his grip on Dean’s hand, and together they went forth to make themselves available to their people.

The full-scale charm offensive that Dean employed that afternoon did not let up for several days. He had a number of fences to mend, and he did so the best way he knew how: by taking an active interest in every courtier who approached him, by smiling and nodding even as they droned on about things he had little comprehension of, and by always having a kind word for those who had been his staunch supporters all along.

After nearly a week of this, no one mentioned his foray to the south any longer, and Dean felt the weight of that trip slowly begin to fall from his shoulders. Even better, once things had settled down somewhat, Castiel casually mentioned that Billie and Pamela had returned from Pellia, and Dean was delighted to invite them for a private dinner, during which they told him all the news from home and presented him with the gifts that Sam and Jess had sent, along with an incredibly thick stack of letters.

“I cannot thank you enough for all that you have done,” he told them, clutching the letters to his chest. 

“We only did our duty,” Billie reminded him in her blunt manner. Then she softened somewhat and gave him a rare smile. “And your family was very kind to us. It was no hardship to be there with them.”

“Still, it was a long time to be away from your home, and I appreciate your dedication,” Dean said. “If ever there is anything you need, anything you require, you have only to ask. I am in your debt.”

“A king of Arxelle, in our debt?” Pamela raised one dark eyebrow in amusement. “Oh, the things we might ask, my dear.”

Billie gave her a fond glance. “Better to save it for a time we need it most.” She stood and offered Dean and Castiel a brief curtsey. “Thank you for dinner, my lords.”

She and Pamela left the room arm-in-arm, and Dean watched them go, unsure why the sight made his heart ache. He snuck a glance at Castiel, who was smiling down at the table, tracing patterns into its surface. They had hardly had a chance to talk privately after the first night Dean returned to the palace, too busy making sure the people were reassured of their shared commitment to the kingdom.

As though he could feel Dean’s eyes on him, Castiel raised his head and gave him a small smile. “You must be pleased to hear that your family is well.”

“I am,” Dean replied. “I only looked quickly at the letters, but it seems as though my father is preparing to pass the crown to Sam soon.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. “Is Sam ready for the task?”

Dean gave a short laugh. “Oh, more than. He’ll make an excellent ruler. I would like to be there for his coronation, though.”

There was a pause before Castiel replied. “Is that such a wise decision, to consider leaving again so soon? Considering all that happened while you were away?”

Stung, Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you mean to keep me here the rest of my days, my lord? I thought citizens of Arxelle were permitted to travel as they pleased.”

“Of course they are,” Castiel said hastily, sitting upright in his chair. “I only meant that--”

“You only meant that you cannot rule without me,” Dean said tightly. “You missed me while I was gone, because you missed having a shield from your own people. And now you don’t want to lose that again.”

For a long moment, Castiel just stared. “Is that what you think?” He laughed, but there was no humour in it. “Dean, I am worried about the people. I don’t want them to think you’re abandoning them again so soon, not when we’ve made such good progress.”

“Abandoning--” Dean could not even bring himself to acknowledge that. Not without saying things he would surely regret later. He sighed and rose to his feet. “We’re both tired. It has been a long week. We can talk about this later.”

“Very well.” Castiel rose and gave him a stiff bow. “Goodnight, my lord.”

“Goodnight.” Dean threw the words back over his shoulder as he left the room, heading back to his own chambers to punch one of his ridiculously overstuffed pillows in his frustration. 

He felt slightly better after doing so, but his blood still boiled in his veins, so he stepped out onto his balcony and breathed in the cool night air. 

Castiel had not argued his point. This whole week, Dean had replayed the moment when Castiel told him he had missed him, searching for any indication of deeper feeling within those words. Eventually, he had come to the conclusion that Castiel had missed his help in running the kingdom, and when Dean threw that very accusation at him, he had not denied it. 

Sighing to himself, Dean pulled his tunic more closely around his body and stared up at the night sky. He had hoped that the time away from Castiel might help him come to terms with the way he’d come to feel about him, but now that he was back, things were more fraught than ever. 

A faint creaking noise drew his attention upwards, and he looked up to see Castiel step out onto his balcony. Of course. They were alike in that, the way they sought comfort in the embrace of the night. Not for the first time, Dean wished they might seek comfort in each other’s arms instead, but he dismissed the notion the instant it crossed his mind. 

Such dreams would never come to be.

Waving, Dean caught Castiel’s eye. Castiel lifted his own hand in acknowledgment, but said nothing. It was better that they did not speak, Dean thought, rather than lose themselves in yet another argument. He knew Castiel was right, knew it would not be wise to risk a trip back to Pellia to see Sam crowned, but having to choose between his family and his duty to his new kingdom never put him in the best of moods. He resolved to apologize in the morning. 

Looking up again, Dean saw that Castiel was gone. He sighed again and rested his body against the railing, unwilling to move despite the way his skin was beginning to prickle from the cold. Five more minutes, he told himself. And then he would try to get some sleep.

Just as he turned to step back inside, a flash of movement caught his eye. For a brief second, he dared to hope that Castiel was returning, that he wanted to talk. But the movement was coming from higher up, and as Dean watched with mounting confusion, two dark figures dropped from the roof and onto Castiel’s balcony. 

As they did, the moonlight glinted off the blades strapped to their waists.

Dean was out of his chambers before he even realized he had moved. He tore through the corridor, heart thumping frantically in his chest, visions of Castiel’s bloodied body running through his mind. He shouted as he ran, hoping the thick walls would not muffle the sound. Curse the respect that led to the guards being posted outside the private hallways and not within them. 

Skidding to a halt, he pushed open the door to Castiel’s chambers and plunged headfirst into the chaos that greeted him. The room was dark, but he could just make out Castiel dodging the sword of one of the attackers, hampered by the volume of his nightshirt. The other intruder was attempting to pry a yowling Nyx away from his face, and Dean froze, unsure where to direct his attention.

With a shout, the larger assassin tossed Nyx aside and drew his sword. His decision made, Dean leapt onto his back and wound an arm about his throat, attempting to cut off his air. But the man was strong and broad, and he pulled Dean off, throwing him to the ground. He wore a mask that covered his face, and he fought like one trained to it from a young age. Dean dodged his blows as best as he could, wishing he had his own weapon with him. 

Daring a glance across the room, Dean saw that Castiel had pinned the other intruder and was busy tying her hands behind her back with the tie from the curtains. Grunting as his opponent landed a kick to his ribs, Dean threw his arm up to block another lunge with the sword, and the blade cut deeply into the flesh of his shoulder. He let out a pained shout, dropping to his knees and clutching at the wound, but managed to roll away as the next blow fell, rising shakily to his feet and tearing off his opponent’s mask.

Staring back at him was none other than Benny, his pale blue eyes wide with shock and dawning horror as he took a good look at Dean’s face and realized just who he had been fighting.

The sword dropped from Benny’s grip, and that was when Victor came charging into the room, followed by four other guards. They immediately pulled Benny away and hauled the woman to her feet. Across the room, Castiel’s harsh breathing indicated he had taken a few blows himself, and Dean ached to go to him, but found he could not move from his current position. 

Benny no longer struggled against the guards, still staring at Dean as though he could not believe what he was seeing. Wincing, Dean nodded at Victor. “Remove her mask,” he said, indicating the other assassin. 

Victor gave him a sharp nod, and the guard holding the woman pulled off the mask to reveal Gwen’s face. Dean’s own cousin. His heart fell, his mind racing as he tried to come up with some explanation for their actions.

Gentle hands pulled his own away from the wound on his arm, and he rolled his head to the side to see Castiel pressing a wad of cloth against it. “It’s not deep,” he said, voice soft. 

“Are you--” Dean’s word stuck in his throat as he looked Castiel over, frantically checking for any sign of injury.

Castiel spared him a small smile. “I’m fine,” he said. “A few bruises, but nothing serious.”

Victor coughed, drawing their attention back to the other figures in the room. “What shall we do with them, Your Grace?”

Castiel’s mouth tightened. “You know the punishment for intruders, Captain Henriksen.”

“Wait.” Dean clutched at Castiel’s arm. “Wait. I know them. He is my friend, and she-- she is my cousin.”

“You--” Castiel’s eyes went wide, but before he could say anything further, Dean turned to address Victor.

“Something is wrong here,” he said.

Victor snorted. “Yes. These scum tried to assassinate our king.”

“No.” Dean shook his head, feeling faintly dizzy from the loss of blood. “They wouldn’t-- please. Just let me talk to them. Tomorrow. Before you do anything else.”

Frowning, Victor turned to Castiel, who gave Dean a long, searching look before nodding. “Bring them to the dungeons,” he instructed. “Say nothing of this. If we are lucky, we may yet keep it between ourselves.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Victor bowed. “I’ll have four guards posted outside your door, in case they had accomplices.”

For the first time, Benny spoke. “There’s no one else.”

“And why should we believe you?” Victor asked coldly.

“Dean---King Dean,” Gwen said softly. “I’m sorry.”

Dean waved them away, his eyes fluttering closed. Castiel cursed under his breath and hauled him upright, helping him to the bed. “Send for a healer,” he said to the guards. “Quickly now.”

“I’m fine,” Dean protested as the room emptied, the guards hauling Benny and Gwen away without further comment. “Don’t need a healer.”

“Hush,” Castiel told him sternly. “I have little experience treating sword wounds. You can complain later, once you’re well.”

Dean tried to make some testy reply, but the dizziness was growing. Faintly, he heard another voice-- Pamela, he thought-- and then felt a cool cloth pressed to his brow as a tighter bandage was wrapped around his arm. “Drink this,” Pamela said softly, guiding a cup to his lips. Obediently, Dean drank the steaming concoction, and within a few minutes, the room solidified around him.

“Better?” Pamela asked, smiling down at him.

“Yes.” His arm still hurt, but at least his mind was clear. “Thank you.”

She slid off the bed and pressed her hand to his cheek. “You’ll mend well. You’re made of strong stuff, Your Grace.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said to her. “If anything changes--”

“You know where to find me.” She gave them another smile, then pulled the door closed softly behind her.

Castiel stood at the side of the bed, twisting his hands together. His robe was torn, and his hair was in total disarray, but it was the look on his face that surprised Dean the most. He looked absolutely devastated, face pale and eyes huge, lips pressed together in a thin line.

“How did you know?” he asked after a long pause.

Dean shrugged, then winced as the movement pulled at his wound. Castiel immediately moved forward and re-arranged the pillows behind Dean’s back to support him better. Dean relaxed against them with a sigh, then looked up to meet Castiel’s eyes. “I saw them come in from the roof,” he explained. “I was still out on my balcony, but I couldn’t shout for help, or jump up and stop them. I just ran.”

He looked away, ashamed. “I should have been quicker.”

Gentle fingers settled under his chin and tilted his face back towards Castiel. “You saved me,” he said. 

“I didn’t--”

“You did.” Castiel gave him a rueful smile. “You could have let them do what they came here to do. Could have let them kill me, and then you would have been free.”

Castiel’s hands rested on the bed beside him, and Dean reached up to wrap them in his own. “Is that what you think of me?” he asked. “That I would let that happen?”

Castiel shrugged gently. “This was never what you wanted.”

Dean closed his eyes against a wave of tiredness that threatened to pull him under. “You are a fool,” he said softly. “If you truly think I would let that happen to anyone. An even greater fool if you think I would let that happen to you.”

He heard the hitch in Castiel’s breathing, felt the way his fingers twitched in his hold. He opened his eyes as Castiel slowly sat on the bed beside him, his eyes never leaving Dean’s face.

“You were always so changeable,” he said. “Warm one day, cool the next. We’ve spent so much time arguing that I hardly knew where I stood from day to day--”

He broke off, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. You saved my life, Dean.”

With a trembling hand, Dean reached out and touched his face. “You saved mine first.”

Castiel’s eyes went wide, and he was perfectly still under Dean’s touch. Dean waited patiently while realization dawned in Castiel’s eyes, while an absolutely breathtaking smile spread across his face. 

Carefully, as though he feared breaking this new understanding between them, Castiel walked around to the other side of the bed and climbed under the covers. He inched across the wide expanse of blankets until he was close enough for Dean to feel the warmth radiating from his body, though they were not touching. “Sleep,” Castiel murmured. “Tomorrow will bring its own troubles. Sleep while you can.”

Dean nodded, his eyes already drifting closed. A moment later, he felt a warm weight settle on his legs, and opened them again to see that Nyx had leapt onto the bed and curled on top of him, purring softly.

Despite everything that had happened, it made him laugh. “Now she approves of me?”

“I think you’ve won her over, just as you have everyone else.” Castiel’s voice was soft, his eyes fond as he looked at Dean. “Now hush.”

Settling back against the pillow, Dean closed his eyes once more. A light hand smoothed his hair away from his forehead, repeating the motion in a soothing manner.

He knew he would have to talk to Benny and Gwen in the morning. He knew he and Castiel had much more to say to one another. But for now, he allowed himself to drift off to sleep, warm and safe in his husband’s bed.


	15. Chapter 15

Castiel woke before dawn, the events of the previous night flooding back to him. Exhaling shakily, he rolled onto his side and gazed down on Dean’s sleeping face.

They had much to do today, he knew. But Dean looked so peaceful, his features smooth in repose, his breathing even and steady. Castiel had no desire to wake him, so he slid from the bed as quietly as he could, Nyx following after him. 

His chamber door creaked slightly as he pulled it open, and the guards on duty outside snapped to attention at the sight of him. “Any disturbances?” he asked them.

“No, Your Grace,” Muriel replied, keeping her voice low. “We’ve had patrols in all the major areas of the palace, as well as along the roof and the bridge. Nothing out of the ordinary has occurred.”

Castiel nodded. He looked back into the room, where Dean still lay asleep, and sighed. “Has anyone spoken to the prisoners?”

“Not yet.” Muriel could not keep her distaste from her voice. “Captain Henriksen will escort you to the dungeons to speak with them whenever you are ready.”

“Give us half an hour,” Castiel said. “Better we deal with this sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Muriel offered a brief salute, and just before Castiel closed the door, he heard her say, “I’m glad you are well.”

Smiling to himself, Castiel shut the door as quietly as he could, but as he turned, he saw Dean stir, obviously woken by the noise. Crossing the room, he perched at the edge of the bed and waited for him to wake fully.

Slowly, Dean’s eyes opened, bleary at first and then sharpening quickly as he took in his surroundings. His hand flew to his own shoulder, pressing lightly against it, and a small smile curved onto his lips. 

“How are you feeling?” Castiel asked. His hands twitched where they rested on his lap, the desire to reach out and touch Dean stronger than ever, but he kept himself still.

“Surprisingly well, considering I took a sword to the shoulder last night.” Dean’s voice was raspy from sleep, and it sent a shudder through Castiel. How he would like to hear that voice every morning. “I see now why your healers are so renowned.”

“We were fortunate that this was the worst of our injuries,” Castiel said gravely. He could not have lived with himself if something worse had happened to Dean.

Dean reached out and rested a hand on his leg. Even through the fabric of his nightshirt, Castiel could feel the warmth of the touch. “We have to deal with this, don’t we,” Dean sighed.

“Yes.” Castiel closed his hand over Dean’s. “Victor is coming to escort us to the dungeons to talk to the prisoners. After that…”

“I don’t want to tell the court.” Dean’s eyes slid away from Castiel as he swallowed roughly. “Not until we know more. What with the way they gossip, any half-truth will only fuel the fires.”

Castiel’s mouth twisted slightly as he considered it. Dean made a valid point, and in light of recent events, it probably would be best to not reveal anything too quickly. On the other hand… ”Are you saying that because you think it’s the best thing to do, or because they’re your friends?” he asked softly.

Dean flushed guiltily, but he met Castiel’s eyes once more. “Both, if I am being entirely honest. I can’t--” He looked down for a moment, inhaling deeply. “I cannot send my friends to their deaths without knowing why they would do such a thing. The court can wait. Please.”

“We will see what they have to say,” Castiel promised. “But Dean, you know as well as I do what the likely outcome of this scenario is.”

“I know.” Dean sighed and sat upright, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I hate it, but I know.”

They dressed in silence, both opting for comfortable, casual clothing. Dean struggled to pull his tunic over his bandaged shoulder, and when Castiel wordlessly adjusted it for him, he gave him a crooked smile that caused Castiel’s heart to flutter in his chest. 

Just as they finished dressing, there was a polite knock at the door. “Are you ready?” Castiel asked.

Dean took a deep breath before answering. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Victor bowed to both of them, but surprisingly, it was to Dean that he spoke first. “Your Grace,” he said, a strange expression passing over his face. “Thank you for your quick action last night. Had you not intercepted the intruders and raised the alarm along the way, I fear we might have lost our king.” He gave Castiel a glance, then quirked up one side of his mouth. “One of our kings,” he corrected himself.

“There is no need to thank me,” Dean replied. He gave Victor a respectful nod. “I am only glad I was able to help in some small way.”

Victor nodded in return, something wordless passing between the two of them before he turned to look at Castiel. “This way, my lords.”

It had been a long time since Castiel had ventured down to the dungeons. They were not frequently used-- in fact, the last prisoner held there had been Sam. As they made their way down the corridors and the twisting staircases, Castiel felt his apprehension grow. Beside him, Dean’s face was set in grim lines. Whatever they learned, it would surely be no comfort to either of them.

The guards at the entrance to the dungeons snapped to attention as they approached, their eyes wide as they realized who they were admitting. “Say nothing of this,” Victor instructed them sternly, and they both nodded furiously.

The two assassins were being held in cells beside one another, and it was the woman they reached first. She clung to the bars as she watched them warily, her face pale. “Gwen,” Dean said, making an aborted move to reach out to her. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, glancing between Dean and Castiel. “I’ll have a few bruises. But they won’t trouble me for long.”

Castiel winced at the resignation in her raspy voice. Dean’s face looked sickly in the flickering light, and Castiel yearned to comfort him, but he said nothing. This was between Dean and his cousin.

“Why?” Dean’s voice was soft, but there was a world of hurt contained in that one word.

Gwen bit her lip, casting a dark look in Castiel’s direction. “They said he was mistreating you. That you were unhappy here, that you fled to the south simply to escape him. They said you needed help, but because the Arxellians can’t raise a hand against each other…”

“They looked to you to accomplish what they could not,” Castiel finished heavily. It made a certain, terrible sense. 

“Who was it? Who told you this?” Dean’s voice was surprisingly calm, but his shoulders were tense, his hands clenched tightly at his side.

There was a rustling from the adjoining cell, and a deeper voice answered. “We don’t know. They never gave a name. Said they were a concerned party.”

Dean flinched, but moved over to look at his friend through the bars of his cell. “Who else knew about this, Benny? Sam? My father? Jo or Ellen?”

“No one, I swear.” Benny’s voice was firm. “The letter came to me directly. I took it to Gwen. We didn’t want to involve anyone else. We acted alone.”

Frowning, Castiel moved to stand beside Dean. “How would an Arxellian know who to contact in Pellia, who would be loyal enough to you to make such a move?” he asked, voice low.

Dean sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. “I’ve spoken of my friends and family in Pellia before,” he admitted. “Anyone who ever walked with me in the gardens would know Benny and Gwen’s names. Would know who they are, what they’re capable of.”

His face twisted into something mocking. “I suppose I should not have been so free with my time and my words.”

“You cannot blame yourself,” Castiel told him. “This was not your fault.”

“They thought they were protecting me!” Dean hissed. “How can that be anything other than my fault?”

“It isn’t.” Benny gave them a rueful shrug as though apologizing for listening in on their conversation. “We made our own choices, my lord, based on the information we were given.”

Dean strode back over to his cell, looking between he and Gwen. “Why did you not speak to me first?” he asked them, voice wretched. “I would have told you the truth. I am not ill-treated, I am not in danger. You have been duped, and sorely so.”

“We see that now.” Gwen’s voice was quiet. “And for what it is worth, King Castiel, we offer our apologies. Our dedication to Dean outweighed our judgment.” A small smile twisted one side of her mouth. “Fortunately, our prince has become even more skilled since coming here. I am glad he was able to stop us from seeing our mission through.”

“As am I,” Castiel told her. “But we cannot pretend that your goal was anything other than to have me killed.”

“We know,” Benny said, voice steady. “We have accepted the consequences of our actions.”

“No,” Dean whispered. “This isn’t right.” He cast a pleading look at Castiel. “You know this isn’t right. You saved me, and you saved Sam. Please. Let us save them.”

Castiel rubbed wearily at his forehead. He could not find it in himself to blame Gwen and Benny for their actions, not if they truly believed they were doing what was best for their former prince. Their friend, their cousin. Dean inspired tremendous loyalty wherever he went, Castiel knew, and that they would take it to such an extreme surprised him not in the least.

“Someone has to be punished,” he told Dean quietly. “This cannot be allowed to stand.”

“Then we find whoever sent them that letter.” Dean drew his shoulders up, his eyes glittering fiercely. “They are the one truly responsible for this. We find them, and we hold them accountable.”

“There will be those who say it is not enough,” Castiel warned him. “That the law demands their blood for their trespass alone, let alone for attempting to assassinate me.”

Dean made an angry motion with one hand. “I told you before, when we first met. You are the king. You can change the law. Better yet, _we_ are the kings.” He took a step towards Castiel, his eyes pleading. “I know you think I am being soft because I know them, because I care about Benny and Gwen. And I am. But Castiel, we’ve come so far already. There is a right and there is a wrong here, and you know it.”

He held Castiel’s gaze for a long moment, and slowly, Castiel nodded. “The prisoners will remain here until further notice,” he said, raising his voice so the guards might hear. “While we investigate the source of their information from Arxelle.”

A flicker of hope, and perhaps even pride, shone in Dean’s eyes. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“Do not thank me yet.” Castiel sighed heavily. “It will not be easy, attempting to locate the individual-- or group of individuals-- who plotted against us.”

From behind them, Gwen coughed politely. “Might this help?” She held out a sheaf of parchment, passing it through the bars of her cell. 

Eyebrow raised in interest, Castiel took it from her. It told them nothing new, only what Gwen and Benny had said: someone wanted them to think Dean was unhappy in Arxelle. But a slow smile spread across Castiel’s face regardless.

“What?” Dean asked, catching his expression. “Can this help us?”

“Not us, necessarily. But someone else.” Castiel waved one of the guards forward. “Send an urgent message to the High Priest. Tell him to burn the purple fire.”

“Your Grace?” The guard frowned at him. “The purple fire?”

“He will know what it means.” Castiel made an impatient gesture at him. “Quickly now.”

“I don’t know what it means,” Dean protested. “What is the purple fire?”

“It’s a code,” Castiel replied absently. “Devised between my remaining siblings and I.” He gave Dean a lopsided smile. “You’ll finally get to meet my sister.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, he rather enjoyed the look of utter shock on Dean’s face. “Your sister,” Dean repeated. “The enchantress?”

“Yes. I believe she may be able to use her gifts to determine the sender of this letter.” Castiel looked over his shoulder at Benny and Gwen, who were listening with interest. “And if she does…”

“We can set them free.” Dean’s entire face lit with renewed hope. “When will she be able to--”

“Not until tomorrow, at least. It’s a long journey from where she resides now.” 

Nodding, Dean turned back to the prisoners. “We’re going to fix this,” he told them. “I promise.”

They both nodded, though Castiel noted they looked far less confident in this plan than Dean did. 

“We trust you, my prince,” Benny said.

“And if nothing else, we are glad to see you again, and to see you well,” Gwen added. 

Dean reached through the bars and clasped their hands in his. “Be strong. I will send word when I can.”

It clearly took some effort for him to turn away from them, but when he did, his face was determined, his eyes clear. Castiel waved him forward, and they left the dungeons behind them.

As soon as they were back within the safety of the private corridors, Victor broke his silence. “Your Grace, if I might offer a suggestion?”

“Of course, Captain,” Castiel replied.

“Do not inform the court of what happened,” Victor said bluntly. “Not yet. If one of our own was responsible for this entire scheme, it would alert them to our knowledge of it. I doubt they knew precisely when King Dean’s friends would make their move, so we can safely assume that in their mind, no attempt on your life has yet been made. To tell them one has, and that it was unsuccessful, might cause them to do something rash, like have the prisoners killed.”

“But how do we explain the commotion last night?” Dean asked with a frown. “Surely, someone will have heard something.”

“Not as much as you think,” Victor said, patting the stone walls around them. “These keep out a great deal of sound. And the royal chambers are quite far from any others.”

Dean made a dismissive motion. “Very well, but I have no desire to sit in front of the court today, either, attempting to keep quiet on this matter.”

“So we cancel it.”

Both Victor and Dean turned to stare at Castiel in shock. He shrugged loosely, unconcerned. “Tell them we are unwell. Tell them we forgot. Tell them anything you like. They can go one day without us.”

There was something like admiration in Dean’s eyes. “Are you suggesting a break with customs? You?”

Castiel shrugged again. “I’ve learned from the best.”

Dean laughed, but Victor still looked thoughtful. “It will only buy you a day,” he warned.

“A day is all we need,” Castiel answered. “Tomorrow, Anna and Gabriel will arrive to assist us. We can go no further until then.”

They reached the door to Castiel’s chambers, and Victor nodded. “Very well, Your Grace.” He turned to Dean. “May I escort you back to your chambers, Your Grace?”

A pink hue appeared on Dean’s cheeks, and he darted a nervous glance at Castiel before replying. “I think perhaps it would be for the best if we remained together today,” he said. “For safety.”

Victor looked between the two of them, and whatever he saw there caused him to sigh, though his eyes were amused. “For safety. Of course.” He offered them a salute, then pulled the door open. “I will have food sent to you shortly.”

Once the door closed behind them, Castiel turned to Dean, who was still watching him with that nervous look on his face. “For safety only?” he asked, voice soft, unsure what he wanted Dean’s answer to be.

Dean let out a shaky breath and spread his hands helplessly before him. “I don’t wish to let you out of my sight,” he answered, equally soft. “Not today. Not when I almost--” He broke off, looking out towards the balcony.

“What do you wish, then?” Castiel took a cautious step towards him, not daring to move too quickly for fear of breaking the spell.

“To hide away from the world with you,” Dean answered immediately, his flush deepening. “Unless you prefer me to go. I do not want to impose--”

“Dean.” Castiel laid a gentle hand on his uninjured shoulder. “Stay. Please.”

Looking down at Castiel’s hand where it rested lightly against him, Dean seemed to come to a decision. He stepped forward, slowly lowering his head until it rested in the hollow between Castiel’s neck and his shoulder, the breath leaving his lungs in a rush. Castiel wrapped his arms around him, pressing his cheek to Dean’s hair, and the only thought in his head was how right it felt.

They stood that way, wrapped tightly around one another, until a gentle knock sounded at the door and they reluctantly pulled apart. Hannah greeted them with her usual courtesy, bringing a tray of food with her. She set it down on the table, then hovered for a few moments, her face grave.

“Yes, Hannah?” Castiel asked.

She took a deep breath and curtseyed. “I am most glad to see you unharmed, Your Grace.” She looked over at Dean and inclined her head towards him. “And you as well.”

“Thank you.” Dean gave her a polite bow. “Would you tell Kevin that I’m alright, please? I do not want him to worry.”

Hannah smiled at that. “He has been quite upset,” she confided. “But I am confident this will help.”

With another curtsey, she left them. “You should eat something,” Castiel told Dean. “You’ll need to keep up your strength, with that wound.”

Dean gave him a look of fond exasperation. “I can barely feel it.”

“Eat.” Castiel took a seat at the table and waited for Dean to join him. Their legs brushed together beneath it, and he watched as Dean’s face regained its normal healthy colour as he ate. They would both need to be strong for what lay ahead. Castiel did not want to think about the reality of their situation, the fact that there was a traitor among his court, but he knew they could only put off such thoughts for this one day.

So they would have to make the most of this peace while it lasted.

After they finished eating, Castiel taught Dean how to play a traditional Arxellian board game, enjoying the way Dean’s eyes lit up when he scored a point and the way he pouted when Castiel did. It was a close race between them, and when Dean won by a single point, he let out a whoop of triumph that transformed his entire face. 

“Beginner’s luck,” Castiel said, pretending to scoff. 

“No such thing,” Dean insisted. “But if you truly believe that, we can always play again.”

“I’m not certain my pride could take another blow.” Castiel pressed a dramatic hand to his brow. “Take pity on me, my lord, please.”

“Oh, very well.” Dean continued to grin at him, and Castiel was pleased to see such an expression on his face in spite of all that was happening. “What shall we do instead, then?”

Castiel shrugged. “Whatever you like.”

Raising a hand to his mouth, Dean covered a yawn. “I might like a nap,” he admitted. “But I fear I still have the stink of the dungeons on me.”

“A bath first, then?” Castiel asked.

Dean nodded gratefully. “Yes, please.”

Castiel rang the bell by the side of his bed, and Hannah appeared shortly. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“Might we have a bath drawn, please?” he requested. 

“Of course, Your Grace.” Hannah looked quickly between Dean and Castiel, then swept up the tray with their dishes from lunch. “Is there anything else you require?”

Castiel shook his head and perched on the edge of the bed, petting Nyx, while Dean stood at the window, looking down at the gardens. Normally, he would be out there now, walking with the courtiers. Castiel wondered what he was thinking, but did not wish to intrude on his privacy. 

“Your bath is ready.” Hannah’s soft voice broke him from his reverie. 

“Thank you,” he said to her. “Dean? The bath is ready.”

Dean turned back to him, his face calm, and allowed Castiel to lead him to the bathing chamber that connected to the main room. The large sunken tub was filled to the brim with warm, lightly scented water, and Dean’s shoulders relaxed visibly just breathing in the humid air.

“Would you help me with this tunic?” Dean’s voice was uncharacteristically shy, and he did not meet Castiel’s eyes as he asked.

“Of course.” Castiel stepped forward and gently helped Dean pull his arm through the fabric, careful not to pull too hard on his injured arm. He averted his gaze as the tunic fell to the ground, leaving Dean bare to the waist. 

He wanted to touch him. Badly. But despite the gentleness between them this day, and the night before, Dean had made no move to demonstrate his feelings in any physical way, other than the embrace and light touches. And he was the more confident, the more experienced of the two of them-- surely, if he wanted to be intimate with Castiel in that way, he would make it known.

There was a gentle splashing sound as Dean lowered himself into the water, then a pleased groan that spilled from his lips. Castiel shivered, wondering what else could provoke that noise from him. He swallowed back the lust that rose within him and said, “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Wait.”

Dean’s voice halted him in his tracks, but Castiel did not turn, mindful of his privacy. “Yes?”

There was a significant pause before Dean continued. “You do not....you do not wish to bathe away the reminders of this morning?”

Castiel willed himself to remain composed as he turned. Dean was leaning on his forearms on the side of the tub, his broad shoulders posed perfectly above it. A slow drop of water coursed its way down the length of his tattooed arm, and Castiel could think of nothing but how he would like to chase it with his mouth.

“You--” He struggled to find the words. “Are you inviting me to join you?”

“Yes.” Dean’s voice was quiet, but it never wavered, and he held Castiel’s gaze steadily. 

Castiel’s hands were fumbling with his own clothes before he even realized he was moving. Dean smiled at him, then turned his head to the side, allowing Castiel to preserve his modesty. He slid into the tub across from Dean, drawing his knees up before him, the steam giving them some measure of concealment.

The hot water felt wonderfully soothing on his body, and Castiel slowly relaxed, letting his head tip back to rest of the edge of the tub. He closed his eyes, relishing in the silence and in Dean’s comforting presence across from him. Opening his eyes, he met Dean’s and offered him a small smile. “This was a good idea.”

“You’ll find I’m full of them,” Dean replied. He stretched out one leg and nudged it gently against Castiel’s. “This is almost as nice as the pool below the temple.”

“The water is brought up from there,” Castiel told him. “They say it has healing properties.”

“Hmn.” Dean tipped his head back, rolling his neck from side to side. “It certainly feels that way. It’s the same water they bring to me, I suppose, but it feels different on this scale. My tub isn’t nearly this large.”

 _This could have been yours_. The words were on the tip of Castiel’s tongue, but he swallowed them down. _It still could be_.

They sat in companionable silence until the water began to cool, and Castiel reluctantly pulled himself out of the tub while Dean looked away once more. Drying himself with a towel, he passed another to Dean and found two pairs of soft, loose trousers for them to wear, along with the long sleeveless robes he liked to lounge in. After draping one around himself, he left the other for Dean and occupied himself with feeding Nyx until he heard Dean clear his throat behind him.

“I’m going to--” he made an abrupt gesture at the bed. “If that’s alright?”

“Yes, of course.” Giving Nyx one last pat, he rose to his feet and pulled back the covers for Dean, who slid under them in a fluid motion that made Castiel’s mouth go dry. “You’re still healing. You should rest while you can.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Dean gave him a smile to soften his teasing tone. “Are you--”

Castiel fidgeted with the trailing length of his robe. “A nap does sound pleasant. But I fear I will find it difficult to sleep.”

Dean gave him a brilliant smile. “I’ll read to you.” Leaning over, he picked up the book from the table by the side of the bed, inspecting it closely. “From Cain, to Colette,” he read. He frowned for a moment, then looked at Castiel. “Cain? Your grandfather?”

Castiel nodded slowly. “Yes.” He climbed into the bed beside Dean, leaving a respectable distance between them. 

“The one Linda said I reminded her of?” Dean looked intrigued, holding the book as though it were something precious, but made no move to open it.

“Yes,” Castiel said again.

“Fascinating,” Dean murmured. Only then did he open the slim volume, his eyes scanning rapidly over the pages. Castiel watched as his mouth parted, as a faint flush worked its way through his cheeks. After a few pages, he cleared his throat and gave Castiel a sidelong look.

“He really loved her, didn’t he?” he asked.

“From all accounts, yes.” Castiel smiled wistfully. “I never knew her, but she must have been an amazing woman, to inspire such devotion in my grandfather.”

“Indeed.” Dean stroked his hand over the leather binding on the book, then held it up once more.

“ _For she is the greatest treasure of my life, and the shape given to my days_ ,” he read. “ _In her I see the world anew, and with her, I breathe the air of possibility_.”

Castiel closed his eyes, his hear thumping wildly in his chest as he pretended those words were meant for him, that the emotion in them was Dean’s own, that he could ever feel that way about him.

“ _For her, I would move the mountains, but she would not ask such a thing. She would only ask that I love her, and that, I will do gladly, for this day and all my days hereafter_.” Dean trailed off as he finished the line, and Castiel opened his eyes to see Dean looking down at him, his face unguarded, eyes wide and vulnerable.

“Do you think you can sleep now?” he asked.

Rolling onto his side and propping his head on his bent arm, Castiel shook it slowly. “I don’t want to sleep,” he admitted, his heart still beating so quickly he thought it might fly out of his chest.

Dean pulled his lower lip between his teeth, drawing Castiel’s gaze there. “Castiel…” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “What do you want?”

Perhaps it was the heightened atmosphere from the events of the night before. Perhaps it was hearing his grandfather’s love poems in Dean’s smooth voice. But no, if Castiel were being honest with himself, this had begun long ago, and he had never dared to confess it, not until now. 

“I want to kiss you.”

The words hung heavily between them, and if Dean was surprised, he gave no indication of it. “I thought you considered such things base,” he said, and if there was a rebuke in it, it was a gentle one.

“That was a long time ago,” Castiel replied. “Many things have changed.”

He waited, holding himself perfectly still, while Dean gave him a considering look. Then, moving slowly as though giving him a chance to change his mind, Dean leaned over and pressed the lightest of kisses to Castiel’s forehead.

Every muscle in Castiel’s body relaxed at the tenderness of the gesture. When he sighed in contentment, Dean moved to kiss his cheek, the spot behind his ear, the tip of his nose. At the last, Castiel caught his face between his hands and stared into his eyes. Dean smiled back, pure happiness radiating from him, and before he could lose his nerve, Castiel leaned up and pressed their mouths together.

Dean’s lips were cool against his, but they warmed quickly the longer they remained in contact, as Castiel rolled onto his back and Dean shifted to hover above him. Dean was gentle, just as he predicted, seemingly content to allow Castiel to determine the intensity of their actions. For his part, Castiel was too lost in the feeling of finally having Dean so close to him to care about anything else, his lips and tongue working with age-old instinct to convey the urgency of his feelings.

After what felt like an eternity, Dean pulled back to look into his eyes. “Castiel,” he said again, the name like a song on his lips. “You have to tell me what you want. Because I--” he paused, a shudder passing through his entire body. “I need to know that this is--”

“It’s perfect,” Castiel interrupted, reaching to twine their fingers together. “Kiss me again, please.”

Dean huffed a laugh, but obliged. This time, the kiss was deeper, hungrier, and Castiel groaned into it, the wet slide of Dean’s lips against his, the way their breath became one. Dean trailed his mouth over the line of his jaw and down the side of his neck, causing Castiel to cry out in pleasure as his hands tightened their grip on Dean’s.

“Easy,” Dean murmured into his ear, his mouth so close. “Easy now.” He returned to Castiel’s lips, soothing him with gentle kisses, until Castiel stilled beneath him. Dean moved as though to roll off him, to put that distance back between them, and without thinking, Castiel’s hands rose to his hips to keep him in place.

Blinking down at him, Dean gave him a crooked smile and brushed their lips together once more. “I assume that means you want me to stay.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, heedless of the desperation in his voice. “Dean, I need to--”

“Tell me.” There was no judgment in Dean’ gaze, only patient understanding. 

Cautiously, Castiel tilted his hips upwards, letting Dean feel the press of his erection. Dean shuddered again, and Castiel had the sudden thought that it could not be good for him to hold himself up that way with his injured shoulder. As gently as he could, he rolled them over so that Dean was beneath him, the soft mattress supporting his weight as Castiel braced himself above him.

Dean laughed softly. “That training does come in useful, does it not?”

“It does,” Castiel agreed. He reached out with a tentative hand and traced one finger along the edge of Dean’s collarbone, visible through the parting of his robe. “May I--”

“Yes.” Dean helped him pull off the robe, glorious and unashamed in his bare-chested splendour. Castiel took a moment to look his fill, admiring the tight muscles developed through his intensive training, before leaning forward to place a kiss to the centre of Dean’s chest. Dean rested his fingers in Castiel’s hair as he moved over Dean’s chest, his shoulder, and down the length of his arm, tracing the lines of his tattoos with his mouth. He could feel Dean’s hardness against his leg, and while he relished the knowledge that he had provoked such a reaction, he had no wish to rush this.

He did, however, want to feel Dean’s hands on him once more. So he sat up for a moment, pulling his own robe over his shoulders and tossing it aside. Dean’s eyes widened as Castiel took his hands and placed them at his hips, enjoying the warmth of them on his bare skin.

“You have grown greatly in confidence,” Dean said.

Pausing, Castiel frowned down at him. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No.” Dean shook his head firmly. “I only mention it because-- I did not think you had any interest in such things. In this.” He trailed off for a moment, looking away. “Or at least not with me.”

Castiel reached out and turned Dean’s face back towards him. “I am very interested,” he assured him. “It just took some time for me to realize it.”

Dean nodded, but his eyes remained wary. “If you want to stop, if it becomes too much--”

“I’ll tell you.” Castiel gave him a soft smile. “I trust you.”

He could not say when that became true, but he knew that it was. Not only with this, but with everything-- with the running of the kingdom, with his very life. He had wanted Dean for a long time, but the distance between them had always felt too great to bridge. Now, with the way they were entwined together, it hardly seemed possible that was once the case.

But somehow, here they were, and Castiel was determined to make the most of it. So he rolled his hips forward, bringing his groin into contact with Dean’s and relishing the noise it caused him to make. Dean’s hands tightened on his hips and he gently pulled Castiel towards him again, this time in better alignment. 

“Can I see you?” Dean asked, voice hoarse. His fingers teased at the waistband of Castiel’s trousers, running over the sensitive skin of his lower abdomen. 

“Only if I can see you as well,” Castiel replied, already moving to the side so he would have more freedom to pull down his trousers. He thought he would be nervous, being completely bare to Dean’s gaze, but the clear desire in Dean’s eyes assuaged any fears he might have had. 

“You’re beautiful.” Dean’s voice was unusually solemn as he ran one hand up the length of Castiel’s bare thigh. “I’ve always known it--”

Castiel cut him off him with a kiss, then pulled away to tug at Dean’s trousers. Dean drew in a sharp breath as Castiel’s hand brushed across his erection, then slid further up on the pillows so he was propped in a semi-reclined position. Castiel tossed aside Dean’s trousers and finally took the chance to admire his husband’s body as a whole.

Aside from the bandage wrapped around his shoulder, Dean’s skin was clear and blemish free, scattered with freckles that Castiel wanted to count while kissing each one. His cock was thick and flushed, heavy with evidence of Dean’s arousal. It was intoxicating, knowing he had had this effect on him. Castiel leaned forward to kiss him again, growing bolder in his movements, rocking his hips into Dean’s as he slid his tongue along the seam of his lips. 

Dean let out a muffled groan and dug his fingers into Castiel’s hips, keeping them locked together. “Show me,” Castiel whispered against his lips. “Show me how to please you.”

With a strangled laugh, Dean reached down between them and wrapped one hand around his own cock, stroking it slowly. Castiel watched, entranced, as it slid through his large hand, the sound of skin sliding over skin echoing in the otherwise silent room.

He stretched out his hand and let it hover over Dean’s, seeking permission. Dean nodded frantically, removing his hand for a moment so Castiel could replace it with his. His head thunked back against the pillows as Castiel stroked him carefully, mindful not to make his grip too tight. 

Dean’s eyes were fixed on his, his breathing laboured. “Come here,” he murmured, beckoning Castiel forward until he was perched almost at his waist. “Join me.”

How could Castiel possibly refuse an invitation like that? Though he had no practical experience in this matter, he’d always had an active imagination, and he understood immediately what Dean was suggesting. Licking a stripe along his palm, he reached down and took both their erections in his hand, groaning at the feeling of such an intimate gesture.

Dean’s hand came up to join his, the two of them moving in perfect rhythm with one another. It would not take much longer, Castiel knew. His eyes fluttered closed, overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through his entire body. 

“Look at me,” Dean coaxed. “Open your eyes.”

Castiel did as instructed, looking down into Dean’s face. So familiar to him now, so welcome. So safe. He bit his lip as another wave of sensation washed over him. “I’m going to--”

“It’s alright.” With his free hand, Dean rubbed soothing circles on Castiel’s thigh. “Let go.”

With a low moan, Castiel did. A shiver ran through his body as he spilled over their joined hands, Dean watching in wide-eyed fascination as he did. Only a few strokes later, Dean followed, biting back a cry that sounded suspiciously like Castiel’s name. 

Once he had recovered his breath, Castiel looked down between them and grimaced. “It is rather messy, you must admit.”

“It is,” Dean agreed. His gaze was serious as he looked up at Castiel. “But also fun, is it not?”

Leaning down, Castiel pressed a kiss to the tip of nose. “Fun indeed.”

He wanted nothing more than to collapse against Dean’s chest, but he did not wish to put any strain on any his injured shoulder, and they really did have to do something about the mess. He found a handkerchief in the table beside the bed and gave them both a cursory wipe with it, then carefully settled back on the bed, curled up along Dean’s side.

Dean turned his head to look at him. “How do you feel?” he asked softly. He reached out and traced the line of Castiel’s cheekbone with one gentle finger.

Castiel caught his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. “Tired,” he admitted with a laugh. “I do not think I will have any trouble sleeping now.”

Dean laughed with him, then tugged Castiel closer so that his head lay on his chest, curling his uninjured arm around him. “Sleep, then,” he said. “It’s still only late afternoon. We have the rest of the day to enjoy before…” He trailed off for a moment. “Before the rest of the world intrudes on us.”

“Mmn.” Castiel rubbed his face against the firm muscles of Dean’s chest. “Hush. Let us not speak of it.”

“Very well.” Dean leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Sleep well, Castiel.”

The world would catch up to them soon enough, Castiel knew. But he would be damned if he would allow it to take this moment away from him: he and Dean, curled up in each other’s arms, the sun filtering in through the windows as their breathing evened out and they slipped into slumber.


	16. Chapter 16

The chamber was still dark when Dean woke, the sun not having yet fully risen. He scrubbed a hand over his face, careful not to disturb Castiel, who was still draped across his chest. Looking over towards the door, he saw a pair of glowing eyes, and bit back a startled oath before realizing it was just Nyx, prowling in front of the entryway.

“Keeping guard?” Dean whispered to her. “Good girl.”

She made a soft rumbling noise in response, and Castiel stirred in Dean’s arms. He would have preferred to let him sleep longer, but he knew they could not delay this day forever. 

“Is it morning?” Castiel asked, voice rough from sleep.

“Not yet dawn.” Dean kept his voice low, stroking his hand rhythmically down Castiel’s back. “We should--”

His words were cut off by Castiel rolling over and placing a firm kiss to his lips. Surprised, it took Dean a moment to recover, but then he responded with enthusiasm, marveling that this was something they could do so easily now. 

Dean had never expected to have Castiel like this, near-naked in his arms after a night spent gently exploring each other’s bodies. Any worries he might have had about pushing Castiel past his level of comfort vanished as their kiss deepened, the intimacy in it leaving Dean breathless. He wished they could stay like this forever, could find all the ways to make Castiel sigh his name, all the ways to make his eyes go wide in surprised pleasure. 

But Castiel drew back after a moment, grim regret clear on his face. “I wanted to do that now,” he said, “before…”

Before they had to deal with the fallout from two nights ago. 

Throat tight, Dean nodded. Someone had tried to kill Castiel, and had used Dean to do so, entirely without his knowledge. The rage that had been quenched by their quiet day together resurfaced in Dean’s chest, sharpening his mind and his determination. 

Nyx let out a hiss, drawing their attention to the door. Dean swung himself out of the bed, grabbing his discarded robe from the floor and wrapping it around himself. Castiel did the same, but when Dean sent him an inquisitive look, he held up a hand. “People are coming,” he said under his breath, “but I think if it were a real threat, Nyx would be more vocal about it.”

Mere seconds later, there was a sharp rap on the door. Relaxing slightly, Dean crossed the room and pulled it open barely an inch. Recognizing Victor on the other side, he stood back and opened the door fully.

Victor was not alone. He gave Dean a cordial nod, then drew back to allow the High Priest to enter. Gabriel gave Dean a brief nod, his eyes widening as he took in Dean’s clearly dishevelled state. Dean flushed, suddenly remembering that this was Castiel’s older brother. He squared his shoulders and tried to look unaffected as Gabriel looked between Dean and Castiel, then smirked at Dean. His flush deepening, Dean looked away, his attention caught by the other figure to enter the room.

She was draped in purple robes like the ones the temple attendant who gave Dean his tattoos had worn, a hood drawn over her head. Though he had never seen her before, Dean knew this must be Anna. The enchantress. He swallowed nervously and gave her a courteous bow, wishing he was wearing something other than this flimsy robe. But she barely spared him a glance, all her attention focused on Castiel.

“Castiel.” Her voice was melodic, but threaded with an undercurrent of sadness. She crossed the room swiftly and swept him into an embrace. Castiel’s arms came around her, and even from this distance, Dean could see the way he relaxed into her hold. 

She stepped back after a moment, but kept her hands on his shoulders. “Gabriel only gave me the briefest explanation. You’re unharmed?”

“I’m fine,” Castiel reassured her. “Dean was injured more gravely than I.”

Anna turned to look at him, pushing her hood back as she did. Beneath it, her hair was a vivid shade of red, except for one thick stripe of white that began at her left temple. Dean shivered under her cool gaze, remembering what Castiel had said: that the spell to destroy Lucien had left her alive, but greatly changed. 

After a long moment, Anna inclined her head graciously at Dean. “You have my thanks,” she said. “I am sorry that we are meeting for the first time under such circumstances, brother.”

“As am I.” Dean made another bow. “But I am glad to have you here now, for we are greatly in need of your aid.”

“Indeed,” Anna replied, seating herself at the table. She propped her chin on her hands and fixed Dean and Castiel with a stare as they sat across from her. “Tell me everything.”

Under the table, Castiel reached down and took hold of Dean’s hand. “I wish we knew everything. So far, all we’ve been able to determine is that someone from Arxelle contacted close friends of Dean’s in Pellia and told them that Dean was unhappy here, that I was mistreating him, and that he was desperate to escape from me. Acting on that information, they snuck across the border and into the palace and attempted to murder me two nights past. Fortunately, Dean arrived in time to stop them, and when they realized he was safe and whole and at least somewhat committed to keeping me alive, they surrendered immediately.”

“More than somewhat,” Dean whispered into Castiel’s ear, squeezing his hand. 

Castiel gave him a small smile, but Gabriel cleared his throat pointedly, bringing their attention back to the matter at hand. “You said you have a letter, sent to the assassins and detailing the supposed situation here?”

“Yes.” Castiel tapped at the side of the table, the hidden drawer there shooting open to reveal the letter concealed inside. Dean had been quite impressed when Castiel had shown him that spot the day before, and they had judged it to be a good place to keep the letter safe. “But even if we determine who wrote it, we have no way of knowing how deep this treason runs. If they acted alone, or if there is an entire network of people working against us.”

“We have to start somewhere,” Dean reminded him gently. “And this is our best lead.”

“I know.” Though his tone was resigned, Castiel’s face betrayed his distress when he turned to look at Dean. “But I want this done well. I do not want to go to sleep each night, wondering if anyone else will attempt to kill me.” He paused for a moment, swallowing roughly. “Or you.”

Across the table, both Anna and Gabriel were watching them with interest. “I will see this done,” Anna said. “You have fought for this throne, Castiel, for your place in this kingdom. And from what Gabriel tells me, you have done a great deal for the people. I will not see your rule threatened, and I will certainly not see you harmed.”

Pleased at her obvious commitment to Castiel, Dean gave Anna his full attention. “How can we assist you?”

She gave him a wry smile. “You cannot,” she said. She tapped the letter lightly, giving it a considering look. “If there are secrets contained here, they will be revealed to me, but for you, there is nothing to do but wait.”

Dean hesitated for a moment. “Forgive me,” he said, “but that does sound like an awfully tall order. If the letter can be so easily traced, why would anyone risk sending it at all?”

“Who said anything about it being easy?” Anna gave him a cool glance, her haughty expression so similar to the one Castiel often wore that Dean almost smiled in response. “It is not so great a risk. My magical abilities are uncommonly strong. I doubt anyone else in the kingdom could obtain any information from this letter. So I say again, there is nothing for you to do but wait.”

“Very well.” As much as Dean did not like waiting, he liked the thought of distracting a powerful enchantress at work even less. So he stood, gesturing to Castiel and Gabriel to do the same. “We leave this matter in your capable hands.”

Anna nodded, already scanning over the letter, lips pursed as she read through the highly detailed and entirely false descriptions of Dean’s suffering. Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder, steering him to the armchairs in the other corner of the room, where they could still see Anna but would be less likely to break her concentration.

Gabriel took one chair, and Castiel the other, leaving Dean to perch on the edge of Castiel’s. Gabriel raised an eyebrow at their position, shooting an unreadable look in Dean’s direction. “I see the two of you have worked through some of your issues,” he commented.

Dean looked down at Castiel, frowning. “What does he know about our issues?”

Castiel grimaced, biting his lip. “We may have had a conversation about some matters relating to the running of the kingdom, and our shared duty in it.”

“It’s a moot point now.” Gabriel waved a dismissive hand in the air. “I may have suggested that Castiel was susceptible to the influence of your pretty eyes-- though those were his words, not mine-- but in light of recent events, I’m quite willing to admit I was wrong about you, Dean.”

It stung slightly, that Gabriel had at one point had such a low opinion of him, but Dean could move past it. “Thank you,” he said. “And thank you for believing us without question about this whole mess.”

Gabriel shrugged. “I have both a professional and a personal interest in the matter. For the good of the kingdom, and for my little brother’s health and happiness, I want this traitor found and punished. As swiftly as possible.”

“A good thing you have a powerful enchantress for a sister, then.” Dean glanced back over at Anna and nearly fell off the edge of the chair. The sleeves of her robe were pushed up, and he could now see the tattoos that covered both of her arms. Unlike any others he had seen in Arxelle, they were entirely black, and they seemed to pulse with a strange, eerie glow.

“Is that...normal?” he whispered to Castiel, suddenly fearful that something in the letter was working against Anna, preventing her from using her magic on it. He knew next to nothing of magic, but this was not at all what he had expected.

Both Castiel and Gabriel had grim looks on their face, their eyes shadowed with sadness. “It is now,” Castiel answered softly. “But it wasn’t always.”

“It cost her deeply, the spell that destroyed Lucien.” Gabriel’s voice nearly broke on his brother’s name, but he continued regardless. “She had the most beautiful tattoos I had ever seen, when we were younger. The work of a master designer. But after she punished our brother and he lost his life, magic lost its beauty for her, though she is no weaker for it.”

“You truly believe she can find out who sent that letter?” Dean asked.

“I believe she can do anything, after what we saw that day,” Gabriel replied.

As much as he would have liked to know more, to hear that tale in detail, Dean knew it was not the proper time. He brushed his hand against Castiel’s shoulder, and Castiel caught it between his own, giving him a grateful look. 

The sun slowly rose, its light gradually filtering into the room. Hannah brought them breakfast, politely ignoring Anna’s muttering as she deposited a cup of tea within her reach. Victor returned after about an hour and held a whispered conference with Gabriel, then left again. Dean paced around the chamber, giving Anna a wide berth, his patience already wearing thin. 

“How do we know it’s working?” He kept his voice hushed as he asked, not wanting Anna to overhear. “If anything is happening?”

Castiel gave him a lopsided grin. “If it wasn’t working, Anna would be a lot louder about it.”

“Her rages were legendary among the court.” Gabriel laughed at the memory. “But no one ever dared to attempt to silence her out of fear of how she might retaliate.”

Dean could picture it well, the three of them in their younger years, before they bore such burdens. He wondered what he would have made of Castiel, had they known each other then. Judging by the way Castiel was looking at him, his eyes soft and fond, he was wondering the very same thing. 

From across the room, there was a noise like the cracking of a whip, and they all turned their heads just in time to see Anna stand and shout something unintelligible, the tattoos on her arms pulsing stronger than ever. The letter seemed to shiver at her words, and Dean watched in amazement as a cloud of purple smoke rose from the page. Slowly, it solidified into the head and torso of a man, who began reciting the words of the letter in a voice that Dean knew all too well.

Wincing, he turned to Castiel to gauge his reaction. Though his face was pale, the grim set of his mouth and the way he gripped the arm of the chair betrayed his rage as he listened to those lies directly from their source. Beside him, Gabriel’s eyes were wide, and as the voice trailed off, he suddenly pushed to his feet, turning his back to gaze out the window, shoulders set in tense lines.

“Raphael.” Anna sounded weary, but there was no disguising the disgust in her voice. “He should have known better. He was there, that day. He was close to both Michael and Lucien. He should have learned that ambition and vain desire for power only lead to tears.”

“He never thought I was fit to rule.” Castiel’s voice was small, smaller than Dean had ever heard it. He wanted to wrap him in his arms, offer his comfort, but he held himself back. This was not the time. “And he has lost a great deal of standing since Dean and I were wed.”

“So he tries to have you killed?” Dean crossed his arms over his chest, scowling at no one in particular. “Yes, what excellent judgment that shows. It truly inspires confidence in his ability to rule.”

“He was clever about it, though, using you and your people.” Gabriel turned back from the window to face them. “If he had been successful, I’m sure the plan would have been to drag you back to Pellia, leaving the throne vacant for him to fill and you to look guilty by association. If you hadn’t stopped them--”

Dean winced at the thought. He had no desire to be reminded of how narrowly they had escaped such a catastrophe. “Let us not speculate on the many ways things could have gone wrong,” he suggested. “Instead, let us focus on the far more practical concern of how to handle this without provoking more violence.”

“We are still assuming he does not know that we know,” Castiel said slowly. “The best thing to do would be to proceed as usual, then, would it not?”

Checking the position of the sun, Dean determined that they still had an hour or so before the day’s court session. He caught Castiel’s eyes and gave him an approving nod. “If he does the same, he would not dare miss court. You mean to accuse him publicly?”

“Is it an accusation if we have proof?” Anna’s smile was sharp, and not for the first time, Dean noted the resemblance between the three siblings. 

“If he tries anything, the entire court will be there as witnesses,” Gabriel mused. “And we’ll have your Captain bring in extra guards, of course. Just in case.”

Dean turned to face Anna. “Can you do that again? With the smoke? For the entire court to see?”

“What sort of enchantress do you take me for?” Her smile took any sting out of her words. “Yes, I can. Now that it has been revealed once, I can command it to do so again at will. A clever piece of magic.”

“Good.” Castiel gave a sharp nod. “Gabriel, you and Anna will accompany us to the front of the Hall. It will raise some eyebrows, but it will keep eyes on us while Victor and his guards locate Raphael and surround him.”

“And if he has co-conspirators?” Dean asked. He did not like to entertain the thought that this was a widespread plot, but it was better to mention it now than be surprised by it later.

“He will name them.” Anna’s voice held a chilling certainty. “Or they will show themselves. He stands to gain the most from doing away with you both, and without him, they will lose any direction they may have once had.”

Looking at their determined faces, Dean’s own confidence grew. They could do this. They could protect themselves, and their kingdom. Strange, to think of it in such terms, but it was the truth. This was his home, these were his people, and this was his family. They would never replace those he left behind in Pellia, those he missed every moment of every day, but they were not lesser for it, and Dean would fight for them, with them, until his dying breath.

He squared his shoulders and gave them all a crooked grin. “Then let us dress for court,” he said.

Since both Anna and Gabriel were already presentable enough to appear before the court, they politely drew back, carrying on their own hushed conversation while Dean and Castiel changed into more suitable attire. As Castiel pulled his robe from his shoulders, Dean noticed that his hands were trembling. Reaching out, he took them in his own, raising them to his lips. “Are you nervous?”

Castiel sighed, leaning forward so that his forehead touched Dean’s. “Yes,” he admitted quietly. “Not afraid. Between Anna, Gabriel, the guards, and you, I have no fear for my safety. But I worry about the consequences of this. How much it will jeopardize this fragile trust we’ve built with the people.”

There was little Dean could say to comfort him, as he had been having the same thoughts. “Whatever happens, we will deal with it,” he said instead. “Or else we will ask your sister to turn them all into toads, and we shall rule happily over a land of croaking courtiers whose only concern is the temperature of the ponds in the garden.”

Castiel laughed, pressing a kiss to Dean’s cheek. “A fine plan. Remind me of it, when this all goes wrong.”

“It won’t.” Dean met his eyes and held them, his voice as steady as he could make it. “It won’t go wrong.”

He could not allow it to. Not when he and Castiel had so much yet to say to one another, so much yet to learn. This new closeness between them had come at the worst possible time, though Dean was honest enough to admit to himself that it might not have come about so quickly had the circumstances been different. It was a long road they had travelled to arrive here, and they had far yet to journey. No ill-advised scheme for power would stand in the way of that.

Once they had finished dressing, Castiel called Victor inside and explained their plan. Victor blanched at the revelation that Raphael was behind the entire scheme, but nodded and sent Muriel to fetch Charlie and four others. “Charlie and I will stay with you,” he explained, “leaving five to surround Raphael. Any more than that, and people will become nervous.”

Castiel nodded thoughtfully. “Do not harm him,” he said. “I want to hear him confess in front of the entire court. I want to hear him tell me why.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Victor gave a sharp nod. “Do you wish the prisoners to be brought forward to present their statements?”

“No.” Both Victor and Castiel turned to look at Dean in surprise as he cut in. “Apologies. But no. For their own safety, I think it best they remain out of sight, out of the path of the outrage of the court. At least until Raphael is secured.”

“I agree.” Victor gave Dean a wry smile as though he could not believe he was saying such a thing. “You will have to deal with them, but not yet. Best to control this situation first.”

“We ought to go.” Anna’s voice was soft, but it halted their conversation regardless. She rose smoothly to her feet and came to join them, pulling her hood back over her head. “It’s time.”

They made a strange, solemn procession: Victor at the front, Dean and Castiel just behind him, with Gabriel and Anna following after and the rest of the guards bringing up the rear. Not far down the corridor, Dean reached down and took hold of Castiel’s hand, twining their fingers together. Castiel looked over and gave him a one-sided smile, locking their hands more tightly. 

When they reached the door to the Grand Hall, they paused. Victor quietly ordered the guards to enter and begin sweeping the room for Raphael, then waited for Dean and Castiel to proceed.

“Are you ready?” Dean asked quietly.

“No.” Castiel laughed, but it was a shaky sound. “But that doesn’t matter. I would never be ready for this.”

Dean ached to say something else, to do something else, but there was no time. With a deep breath, they swept into the room, Anna and Gabriel just behind them.

There was a great deal of whispering echoing from the high ceilings of the Grand Hall. Their absence the day before had been noted, it was clear. And as Gabriel and Anna came more fully into view, the whispers only grew. At the periphery of the room, Dean could see the guards circling, converging on a point about halfway back. He lightly nudged Castiel in the side, nodding in that direction. Castiel looked over, his eyes tightening as he did. For a brief moment, Dean almost pitied Raphael-- he would not wish to bear the brunt of the anger he saw in Castiel’s gaze.

They took their seats, Anna and Gabriel flanking them. Anna kept her hood up, shadowing her face, and though many looked at her with curious interest, it was clear they did not recognize her. 

From her position just behind his throne, Charlie said, “Proceed, Your Grace.” Keeping his hand firmly clasped in Castiel’s, Dean rose to his feet.

“May the light of wisdom shine ever upon you,” he said. “And good morning.”

Castiel stood beside him, his warmth a reassuring presence. He was still here. He was still alive. They both were. They would see this thing through. “We have a rather urgent matter to bring forth this morning,” he said, “so we ask your patience in raising your own concerns.”

Dean looked across the hall at the place he had last seen the guards. They were all there, all their attention fixed on Raphael, who Dean could only just recognize at this distance. It was time.

“To help explain this situation, I call upon Anna, Princess of Arxelle, to step forward.” A shocked ripple ran through the crowd at Castiel’s words as Anna pulled back her hood, the white stripe in her hair leaving no doubt as to her identity. 

She said nothing, only held up the letter, the tattoos on her arm moving in that strange way once more. As the smoke rose and began to take shape, Dean kept his eyes on the real Raphael. He had no need to see the apparition again.

But no matter where he looked, he could not drown out that voice, those words. _King Dean suffers greatly in his new land. Every day, his spirits diminish. He takes to walking in the gardens with the courtiers to escape his husband, but King Castiel has begun to join him there. He trains with the Royal Guard, but Castiel has been seen visiting the barracks as well. There is nowhere for him to hide, nowhere he can feel safe_.

As the shadowy figure continued to speak, the real Raphael went perfectly still. Even at this distance, Dean could see the moment he realized he had lost. He turned as though to flee, but the guards were there, forming a wall he could not pass. Gripping him by his robe, they began to pull him towards the throne as the last of the letter was read aloud.

_I beg you, as one concerned individual to another, to help our suffering friend. King Dean never chose this life-- or if he did, it was no fair choice. King Castiel will never let him go, as he depends too greatly on him. Castiel must be eliminated. It is the only way to ensure Dean’s safety and happiness, and to ensure the prosperity of Arxelle._

The voices from the crowd were no longer whispers now. Unease radiated from every courtier as they snuck glances at one another and at Dean and Castiel. Anna stepped back, the smoke dissipating in the air just as the guards pulled a struggling Raphael to the front of the room.

Castiel looked out across the Hall, his features composed. “Two nights ago, an attempt was made on my life, carried out by two citizens of Pellia. The same citizens who were addressed in the letter you just heard.”

The crowd dissolved into shouts of panic, but Castiel held up his hand to quiet them. “As you can see, it was not successful. King Dean sustained a minor wound in the brief fight, but is recovering well. The assailants are in our custody, but it is not them we concern ourselves with today.”

Dean cleared his throat and took over. “You have heard the incitement to violence in the letter just read. You have seen the figure who spoke those words, and heard his voice.” He gestured to the guards to bring Raphael forward. “Lord Raphael, what have you to say for yourself?”

Raphael sneered, standing tall despite the guards’ firm grip on him. “An illusion,” he said, giving Anna a dismissive look. “You expect anyone to believe this ridiculous lie? Of course, your sister’s loyalty is to you. We all know her power. It would be a simple matter to create this mirage to cast doubt upon me.”

“I would not advise you to pursue that thought.” Anna’s voice was mild, but her tattoos still glowed, and Dean shivered at the look in her eyes. “I could force the truth from you with a whisper, cousin, but it would not be pleasant. I suggest we avoid that eventuality, and you confess before all assembled that you plotted against our rightful king.”

“Our rightful kings,” Gabriel corrected her. “For you meant King Dean to take the blame for your lies, for your violent actions, did you not? Using the love of his people to convince them to do what you could not?”

The voices from the crowd swelled once more as Raphael remained stonily silent. If he did not confess, Dean worried that some among them might begin to give consideration to his words, might wonder if Anna’s spell was accurate. 

Then, to Dean’s surprise, Castiel dropped his hand. He climbed down the dais until he stood face to face with Raphael, the two of them almost the same height. Both Dean and Gabriel hissed his name, but he ignored them.

“Tell me why.” Castiel spoke softly, but in the sudden hush, his words rang heavily in the air. “Tell me why you have always hated me so.”

Raphael’s upper lip curled in disgust. “Because you were never meant to be king,” he said, a hint of rage in his normally smooth voice. “Always the studious one, keeping to the shadows. You are nothing like your brothers, and you do not deserve to wear the crown that should have been theirs.” He broke off, then began to laugh, a harsh, bitter sound. “And then you went and married him,” he said, casting a dark look in Dean’s direction. “An outsider, who has no respect for our customs and our history. You will destroy us, Castiel, and I will not stand for it.”

Castiel gazed at him for a long moment. “You speak of respect for our customs, and yet you invited outsiders into these halls with the express purpose of shedding Arxellian blood. My blood. I think, cousin, it is you who has no respect.”

He climbed back up beside Dean and laced their hands together once more. “You have heard Lord Raphael’s confession. He has plotted not only against King Dean and I, but has threatened the security of the kingdom as whole. If there are any among you who have conspired with him, I urge you to come forward now.”

Not a single person in the crowd moved. “If you confess your involvement now, you will find us merciful,” Dean said, eyes roving over the room. “If you choose to wait to be revealed by Lord Raphael when he inevitably tells us of your role in this plot, I cannot say the same.”

From the back of the room, a figure pushed their way forward. “Rachel,” Castiel breathed, a stricken look on his face.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Rachel murmured, dropping to her knees. “I’m sorry.”

“Is there anyone else?” Dean asked her, as gently as he could. “Your honesty will be much appreciated.”

She shook her head. “Not to my knowledge. I passed the message to Pellia on Lord Raphael’s behalf. I told my supervisors I was on a research journey.”

Castiel continued to gaze at Rachel in sorrowful shock, so Dean waved his hand at the guards. “Take them away,” he ordered. “While we determine how they will be punished.”

Rachel said nothing as she was led towards the doors, but Raphael looked back over his shoulder and sent them one last venomous look. The doors shut loudly behind them, and Dean flinched at the sound. It ought to have been reassuring, knowing they had confessed, but in truth, he was far more worried about what came next. 

Determining the identities of the traitors was the simple part. Determining how they were to be punished-- well, that was a far more complicated matter. And judging by the grim look on Castiel’s face, he knew it as well.


	17. Chapter 17

The Grand Hall was eerily silent in the wake of Raphael and Rachel being led away by the guards. Castiel’s throat was dry, and he swallowed roughly as he looked around the room, gauging the expressions on the courtiers’ faces. Mostly, he recognized the same shock he himself had felt when he discovered the identity of the conspirators. 

Dean gave him a gentle nudge with his shoulder, prodding him into action. With a grateful look, Castiel raised his hand and addressed his people once more. “This is an unprecedented situation,” he said. “There is no clear path for us to follow in the pursuit of justice.”

From the crowd, he heard a derisive snort. Lord Bartholomew stepped forward, his features pinched. “The path is very clear, Your Grace. They have conspired against the throne and sought to spill Arxellian blood. Execute them. Immediately.”

The rumble of approval at his words was louder than Castiel had anticipated, and he flinched from the enthusiasm in it. 

“But the blood was not spilled,” Lord Joshua pointed out, ever rational. “The intent was there, yes, but it did not come to pass. Should they be punished for something that did not happen?”

Lady Bela stepped forward. “Oh, but it did.” Why she looked so triumphant, Castiel did not know. Perhaps she simply enjoyed the dramatics of it all, with little concern for the lives at stake. “King Dean was injured in the fight against those wretched assassins, was he not? His blood was spilled, though thankfully not enough of it to take him from us so soon.”

“A minor injury,” Dean said, holding up his hand to stop the excited chatter that followed Bela’s statement. “Nothing life-threatening. Hardly worth taking into consideration.”

“Everything is worth taking into consideration, Your Grace,” Lord Bartholomew rebuked him. “Every detail. And in light of that, I suggest we allow the assailants to tell their side of the tale. After all, must not their fates be decided as well?”

Dean turned to Castiel with a desperate look in his eyes. They both knew it would only inflame the crowd further to bring Benny and Gwen before them, but to refuse would be just as provocative a measure. Castiel gave the tiniest of shrugs, and saw resignation creep onto Dean’s features.

“Very well,” he said. He turned to Charlie, who stood at attention behind him. “Have the prisoners brought forth.” 

Standing as close as he was, Castiel also heard the whispered part of Dean’s instructions. “And keep them safe, please. For me.”

Lord Bartholomew crossed his arms over his chest with a satisfied smirk. Castiel itched to punch it off his face. Instead, he turned to Gabriel, who still stood before the dais with Anna.

“As High Priest, have you any counsel for us?” he asked. As mischievous as he could be, Gabriel took his role seriously, and cared deeply for the well-being of the kingdom. His insight would be most valuable, and would likely hold a great deal of sway with the crowd.

Gabriel’s face was unusually solemn as he addressed the room. “I can only urge careful consideration here. As Your Grace stated, there is no clear precedent for this situation. Let us not act with haste, not when our decision will have severe and final consequences for those involved. Let us hold ourselves to a higher standard than that.”

“Why should we?” Lady Dumah shook her head, mouth twisted unpleasantly. “They did not hold themselves to any standard when they plotted to murder our king. They knew full well the consequences of their actions, and they chose to take that risk regardless.” She met Castiel’s eyes across the room, and the light in them almost made him take a step back. “Kill them, Your Grace. An example must be made.”

Before Castiel could even attempt a reply, Anna stepped forward. “An example?” Her voice was cool, and Castiel winced, knowing what was to come. “My dear Lady Dumah, an example was made. Years ago. By me.”

Unease filled the room at her words, courtiers muttering to one another and casting fearful looks in Anna’s direction. As she did not often come to the palace, it was easy to forget about her, to forget about what she had done. What she could do. 

A bitter smile twisted her lips as she looked around the room. “You all know what happened when my brother allowed his greed and his ambition to consume him. How it tore us all apart, how we grieved together when we lost not one but two of our once-beloved princes. We are fortunate that King Castiel is still here with us, that Raphael’s treachery was prevented from being fully carried out. If you need a reminder of how willing I am, and how able, to protect the brothers I have remaining to me, I assure you, I will provide.”

Even Dean looked suitably cowed at her words, turning to Castiel with wide eyes. His attention was caught by something behind them, then, and Castiel turned to see Charlie and two other guards escorting Benny and Gwen into the Hall.

“Please, calm yourselves,” Castiel said over the rising din from the crowd, gesturing to the guards to keep the prisoners close. “You asked to hear their version of events. If you continue to babble, you will not be able to do so.”

He heard Dean’s quiet snort of amusement as the crowd settled down, though his eyes were still anxious as Benny and Gwen were brought before them. They looked no worse for their stay in the dungeons, Castiel noted gratefully, and offered no resistance at being led forward. 

They halted in front of the dais, turned so that their backs were neither to the crowd nor to the thrones. Castiel gave them a small nod, hoping it provided them some reassurance, before he addressed them. “You have been brought before the court of Arxelle on the charge of carrying out a failed assassination attempt on the king.” He paused for a moment. “On me. How do you answer to these charges?”

“We do not dispute them.” Gwen’s voice rang out in the hall, her back straight and her shoulders proud as she spoke. 

“We believed we acted in the best interest of our former prince, now your king, who is greatly beloved by the people of Pellia, and by us.” Benny made a bow in Dean’s direction, and Dean stiffened beside Castiel. It could not have been easy for him, watching this, and Castiel wished he did not have to endure it.

“How did you come into contact with Lord Raphael?” Bela asked, eyes gleaming with interest. “Did you seek him out?”

“No,” Gwen answered. “We were contacted by letter, and we never saw who delivered it. It was addressed to Benny, who has long been a dear friend of Prince-- King Dean’s. And once he read it, he asked for my assistance. We had no other contact with anyone in Arxelle until we arrived here, and our attempt on the king’s life was thankfully thwarted.”

“Thankfully,” Dumah repeated in disbelief. “You cannot mean to suggest that you are grateful that you failed.”

“That is exactly what I mean to suggest.” Gwen’s conviction rang from every word. “King Dean came to his husband’s rescue, and in that moment, we realized the situation was not as it had been described to us. We were fooled by our love and protectiveness for our prince. It was used to make us into a weapon by a clever man who had none of his own to wield.”

It was an elegant turn of phrase, and Castiel could see the way Gwen’s readiness to answer endeared her to the crowd. They looked at her with far less suspicion, whispers flowing rapidly through the room as they discussed what she had said.

“You may have been manipulated,” Lord Bartholomew conceded, “but you broke our laws nevertheless. You came into our land, uninvited, with ill intent. Even the first part of that is punishable by death under our laws, so while your intent may help us decide how to punish the mastermind of this plot, it has no bearing on your sentence.”

Dean tensed at his words, hands clenching tightly at his sides. “That isn’t fair,” he protested. There was a faint tremble in his voice, and Castiel recognized it as fear, not for himself but for his friends. The same fear that had led him to pursue Sam here all those months ago. With a sinking feeling in his chest, Castiel moved to stop him, but it was too late.

“They acted out of love for me,” he said. “If anyone is responsible for their actions, it is me.”

“Dean,” Castiel hissed, his words covered by the noise from the crowd, “what are you doing?”

“Anything I can,” Dean replied with a small shrug. “To complicate their certainty.”

“You trust greatly in their sense of fairness.” Castiel could not say he had the same faith in the people, much as he might wish to. If they decided Dean was right…”I do not trust their judgment.”

“Then trust in me,” Dean murmured. He brushed his hand lightly against Castiel’s, the movement hidden by the folds of their robes. “Please.”

Biting his lip, Castiel managed a small nod just as Lord Joshua spoke up once more. “That is not true,” he said, shaking his head firmly. “Your Grace, your innocence in this matter is beyond a doubt. And your willingness to take a blow in defense of King Castiel, in defense of this kingdom, is noted and appreciated. As is the concern of your former subjects.” He gave a nod to Benny and Gwen. “What would we not do, for love of our king?” 

A speculative murmur ran through the crowd, and Anna nodded, a small smile curving on her lips. “What have we not already done, for love of our king?” she said. “You did not punish me, for the punishment I meted out on my brother. Eventually, the cycle must end, lest we all be caught in it.”

“It will end when they are dead,” Lord Bartholomew insisted stubbornly, and several of the courtiers nodded in agreement. “And only then. The law requires it.”

“Laws can be changed.” Dean spoke quietly at first, but as he went on, his passion lent volume to his speech. “After all, was not the ban on metal weapons introduced only after the death of King Michael?”

He paused while the crowd considered this, and though Castiel worried what they might think of Dean suggesting such radical notions, he willed himself to remain calm. To trust in Dean, just as he had asked him to.

“The law is a response to situations that arise in the history of a land, and we have here an opportunity to make change in more than one way.” Dean gazed down at Benny and Gwen, his sadness clear on his face. “You may say that I am weakened by my affection for them, but I do not believe they deserve to die for what they have done. If we assign the blame for their violence squarely to Lord Raphael, their only crime is trespassing, and for that--” he shrugged loosely- “well, they are not so ill-favoured, either of them. Are any among you in search of a spouse?”

A small ripple of laughter rang through the room. Castiel could barely believe it, but then, Dean never failed to impress him with the way he could charm all those who listened to him. 

Dean held up a hand to quiet them, a half-smile on his own face. “I jest, but it helps to illuminate my point. There are always exceptions, there are always gray areas where the law is not so clear. We are quick to speak of justice, of punishment, as though they are absolute. But they are not.”

He gave Castiel a quick glance over his shoulder, the expression in his eyes unreadable. “Since I have come to live among you, I have learned a great deal. Which comes as no surprise, considering you are a people renowned for your wisdom. I have found that to be entirely well-deserved. But I have a question to pose to you now, and I hope you will all consider it carefully: what use is wisdom, if we have not mercy?”

Castiel drew in a sharp breath, startled. Glancing down, he saw both Anna and Gabriel nod in support, a small smile playing around Anna’s lips.

“Let there be no more blood spilled,” Dean said. His voice was low, but there was an urgency to it Castiel had never heard before. “Whether Arxellian or Pellian. I am the one who stands between those two worlds, who keeps a foot in either while trying to respect both. And my blood has been shed in trying to keep that balance. Let that be an end to it.”

“Are you suggesting we do not punish them at all?” Bela did not bother to contain her skepticism, nor her scorn. “None of them?”

“Oh, no.” Dean grinned at her, all teeth and satisfaction. “I am not so soft as that, Lady Bela. However, I do believe that there other alternatives that can be arranged.”

Castiel gave him a long look, wondering how much thought he had given this, and why he had not said anything until now. “Such as?”

But to his surprise, it was Anna who answered. “I have a solution to propose.”

He could practically feel the way every person in the room leaned forward, hanging on her every word. “Go on,” he said.

Anna strode to the centre of the room, looking out at the entire court assembled before them. “Lord Raphael’s treachery was not only a blow against our kings, but against Arxelle itself. We ought not to think of it in terms of a life for a life, but an exchange of another sort.” She paused for a moment, her face going cold. “For threatening the security of Arxelle, I propose we take the security of Arxelle away from Lord Raphael.”

Castiel leaned forward, unable to disguise his interest in the idea. “You are suggesting exile?”

“Yes.” Anna smiled, but there was no humour in it. “But more than that.” She turned to look at the crowd once more. “You know what I am capable of. What I have done to protect this kingdom. While I agree with King Dean that no more blood need be shed, I am not comfortable with allowing Lord Raphael to walk away unscathed, or unchanged, by his treason.” She gently traced a finger over the black tattoos on her arms. “Lucien’s tattoos consumed him entirely for his betrayal. But it was complete. Lord Raphael’s was not, and so too will be his punishment. I will strip him of his tattoos, of his wealth, of his titles, and of his very connection to Arxelle.”

Castiel flinched at the very thought of it, his hand coming to rest protectively over his own tattoos. To imagine them gone...it was a horrible thought. The tattoos were part of an Arxellian’s identity, and were meant to be permanent. Taking them away would be to lose a part of oneself that could never be recovered. And yet he could not deny how fitting a punishment it would be. 

“Forgive me.” Lord Samandriel’s voice wavered as he addressed Anna, but he pressed on despite his obvious fear. “Can you-- can you do that?”

She softened slightly, looking at his youthful face and the awe and terror in his eyes. “I can,” she said. “And if our kings agree, I will.”

Castiel felt the weight of every set of eyes in the room land on him. But before he could crumple under it, Dean reached down and took hold of his hand, easing his breathing immediately. The burden of this decision did not rest with him alone, and for that, Castiel was grateful. 

He glanced up and saw no hesitation in Dean’s eyes. “It is a fitting punishment,” Dean murmured. “I do not want their blood on our hands, Castiel.”

“Nor do I.” Castiel looked out at the crowd, the anticipation in their eyes. “And Rachel?”

“She was less to blame.” Dean’s eyes turned thoughtful. “Exiled from the capital, but not the kingdom?”

Castiel nodded. “We are decided, then?” For all that the courtiers could have their say, the final choice rested with Dean and Castiel. Whatever the consequences of their pronouncement, they would face them together.

“We are decided.” Dean squeezed his hand lightly. 

Taking a deep breath, Castiel turned to address the court. “Princess Anna’s suggestion is wise. We will carry out the sentence she has suggested.”

“For her part in this plot, Rachel will be stripped of her responsibilities in the palace library and banished from the capital,” Dean continued. “But as her role was lesser, so too shall be her punishment. She will keep her tattoos, though she will bear the shame of this day until her last breath.”

“And what of them?” Lord Bartholomew challenged, sweeping a hand at Benny and Gwen. “Will you allow your fondness for them to overshadow any sense of justice? Let them walk free?”

“Yes.” Castiel saw the surprise, the relief in Dean’s eyes as he answered, and it gave him the strength to move forward. “The laws against foreigners entering our land are ancient and established, it is true. But as King Dean pointed out, laws can be changed. I have been giving thought to this matter long before this situation arose. In fact, it has weighed on my mind quite heavily since the day I married King Dean.”

Dean was blatantly staring now, his shock clear enough that Castiel imagined even those at the back of the room could see it. Castiel gave him half a smile, squeezing his hand for reassurance. “I do not believe that Arxelle is under threat from any other land. And I believe that we can share what we know with others, to their benefit and to our own.” Taking a cue from the way Dean spoke earlier, he paused before allowing a bit of humour to seep into his tone. “And considering the number of uninvited guests we have had in the palace over the past few months, I do not believe our border security is doing us much good.”

He was gratified at the number of laughs that statement provoked, though there were more than a few dark looks as well. “It will not be a quick process,” he admitted. “But sending these two--” he nodded towards Benny and Gwen-- “on their way without harm will signal our willingness to change, our desire to become neighbours in more than just name.”

Turning to look at Gabriel, he spread his hands before him. “Do you give us your blessing, brother?”

Gabriel bowed gracefully. “I do,” he said. “It is long past time that Arxelle embraced change. We have been stagnant too long, and we must take risks in order to grow.”

Castiel gave him a grateful nod and turned back to his audience. “We look forward to working together with you as we embark on this new journey,” he said. “As always, we have the best interests of the kingdom and its people at heart.”

Dean cleared his throat, his eyes suspiciously bright, though Castiel doubted anyone in the crowd would notice. “It has been a long day,” he said wryly, “and we will all need time to process what we have learned. I encourage you all to talk to one another, to share your concerns and your thoughts, and to draw strength from each other during these difficult times.” He looked over at Castiel and gave him a brilliant smile, setting Castiel’s heart a-flutter in his chest. “I know I will be doing the same.”

“Wait!” a familiar voice cried out. Castiel winced as Lord Metatron pushed his way to the front of the room. “You cannot do this. You cannot simply change the laws when it is convenient for you, cannot expect us all to abandon our traditions so lightly!”

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but Dean laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Allow me,” he murmured with a wink. Castiel raised an eyebrow at him, but waved him forward. 

“Lord Metatron,” Dean said, keeping his voice pleasant. “You are a great student of history, are you not?”

Metatron puffed his chest up, clearly warmed by the praise. “I am.”

“Of course. After all, you gave us that most stirring reading from your work in progress at our dinner not so long ago.” A small smile played about Dean’s lips as he spoke, and Castiel watched with interest, wondering how this was at all relevant. 

“I did,” Metatron agreed. “Thank you for remembering the occasion, Your Grace.”

Dean’s smile widened, becoming something sharper, more dangerous. “A dinner party that a year ago would not have taken place. Until a tradition was changed.”

Castiel bit his lip to hold back his laughter as the colour drained from Metatron’s face. “I--” he sputtered. “That was not my--”

“It is a matter on a different scale, I agree.” Dean folded his arms behind his back and gave him a sympathetic look. “But it was to your benefit to break with tradition then, was it not?”

Metatron’s mouth hung open, and for the first time, Castiel saw him at a loss for words. 

“I understand that you have doubts,” Dean continued. He looked around the room, addressing not only Metatron but the entire court. “Do you think we do not? None of us are beyond fault. But we are trying to do what is right. And sometimes, that requires breaking with the past.”

His voice softened as he met Metatron’s gaze once more. “Just think, my lord,” he said. “Someday, you will record this in your history of the kingdom. And you will be able to tell future generations how you played a role in it. What role do you want that to be?”

Metatron bowed. It was a graceless, jerky movement, but there was acceptance on his face when he stepped back, and Castiel did not think he would speak out again. More than that, Dean’s words seemed to have resonated with a number of the other courtiers, their faces unusually thoughtful as they considered what he said.

“I believe we are finished for the day,” Castiel declared. “Go with good fortune.”

He stepped off the dais, suddenly exhausted. But both Anna and Gabriel were waiting with smiles of approval on their faces, and Dean was still beaming at him, and for all that it had taken an attempted assasination to bring them here, Castiel found he could not regret it.

“I think I would like to sleep for a thousand years,” he murmured. 

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. “As would I. But there is one matter yet I must attend to.”

He took a few short steps, stopping in front of Benny and Gwen. Castiel’s heart ached for him, knowing it would be difficult to ever see them in the same way after this. But Dean was gentle as he unbound their hands, as he placed a hand on each of their shoulders.

“You should leave quickly,” he advised, voice low. “Before anyone hatches some hasty plot for vengeance.”

Benny nodded. “We will go immediately.” Turning to look at Charlie, he raised one eyebrow. “Ought we expect any trouble at the border?”

She shook her head, uncharacteristically solemn. “Word will be sent ahead to let you pass.”

“Good.” Benny turned back to Dean, swallowing roughly. “It was good to see you, my prince. Even under these circumstances.”

“You as well.” Dean glanced at Gwen, his eyes filled with sorrow. “Both of you.”

They gave him low bows, and just as they turned to leave, Castiel called after them. “Wait!”

Gwen and Benny turned back, their faces puzzled. “You will tell your people what passed here, please,” he asked. “Tell them the truth of what you have seen. And assure them--” he snuck a look at Dean, who was watching with interest. “Assure them that I have only the greatest respect and concern for your former prince, and that I would never intentionally cause him any pain.”

“We will,” Gwen answered with a decisive nod. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

With a formal salute, Charlie led them away. Dean watched them go, his face stricken, and though Castiel ached to comfort him, he did not know what to say. 

“Come,” Anna said gently. “We still have a traitor to deal with.”

Castel blinked at her. “You mean to do it now?”

“What better time than the present?” she replied, lifting one brow. “Unless you have changed your mind.”

“No.” Castiel drew in a deep breath. “I have not. Dean?”

Dean shook his head. “Nor have I.”

“Then let us see this done,” Anna said. “And then we can rest.”


	18. Chapter 18

They made an imposing procession: two guards, two kings, an enchantress, and the High Priest. Dean wished to break the tense silence, but he did not know what to say. Gabriel’s face was smoothly composed, Anna’s grimly satisfied, and Castiel…

Castiel looked exhausted. The lines at the corners of his eyes were more pronounced than ever, and Dean ached to trace them with his fingertips, to smooth them away and to bring a smile to his face once again. It made Dean wonder what his own face looked like, how the strain of the past few days showed itself there. 

At the doorway to the dungeons, Victor waved the guards aside. The air grew damp and cold as they descended the stairs, and Dean willed his breathing to remain steady. It would all be over soon, and with luck, he would never have cause to return to this miserable place.

Rachel’s cell was closer to the stairs. She was huddled in the far corner, but she rose at their approach, hands clasped tightly in front of her.

“Rachel.” Castiel’s voice was filled with sorrow, but he held his head high and met her gaze steadily. “For your part in this plot, you have been sentenced to exile from Telise. You will be stripped of your responsibilities as a royal librarian, and you will be escorted from the city under guard, never to return.”

She dipped her head low, muffling her voice. “It is more than I deserve,” she said. “Thank you, Your Grace.” Raising her head, she turned to look at Dean, and gave him a brief curtsey, surprisingly steady despite her obvious distress. “For my part, I am sorry. I wish you well. Both of you.”

Dean acknowledged her words with a brief nod, but he could bear the pain on Castiel’s face no longer. Placing a steadying hand on his shoulder, he guided him away, Rachel’s eyes burning into their backs as they strode further down the corridor.

Raphael was waiting for them, leaning against the bars of his cell as though they troubled him not at all. Dean itched to reach through and punch the smirk off his face, but he held himself back. They had settled on a course of action, and they would keep to it. 

“A last visit for a dying man?” Raphael said, looking between them. “How condescending of you. Will you tell me that you’re sorry for what you must do? I am not sorry for what I did.”

“That much is clear,” Castiel said. He folded his hands in front of him and leveled Raphael with a stern glare. “But you are mistaken. You are not, in fact, a dying man.”

The smug look on Raphael’s face slipped, just for an instant. “You aren’t going to have me executed?” He laughed, a sharp sound that echoed off the dungeon’s walls. “Oh, Castiel, you’re an even greater fool than I thought. You were never prepared to be a ruler, and all you’re doing is showing the people exactly why.” He threw a scornful look in Dean’s direction, his upper lip curling in distaste. “Or is it your Pellian lover who has come up with this plan?”

“Neither.” Anna stepped forward, her eyes gleaming even in the low light. “It was my idea, cousin.”

At that, Raphael drew back. His eyes flicked between Anna and Castiel, and the fear in them was clear. “Of course,” he muttered. “Depending on your more powerful siblings to solve your problems. So tell me, cousin, what punishment have you devised for me?”

Anna pushed back the sleeves of her robe, baring her tattoos. “For your crimes against the kingdom of Arxelle and its rulers, you will be stripped of your connection to the land and the benefits you enjoy as one of its citizens. You will be exiled from Arxelle, and to attempt to return will bear the penalty of death.” 

Though it was not directed at him, the coldness in her voice sent chills down Dean’s spine. He swallowed nervously, watching as horrified understanding dawned on Raphael’s face.

“Your tattoos, the symbolic connection between yourself and the kingdom, will be removed,” Anna finished. “Lord Raphael, I declare you outcast.”

“You can’t.” Raphael’s voice was weak, his eyes wide. “You cannot do such a thing.” He cast a pleading look at Gabriel, who had to this point remained a silent observer. “Surely, this is against our laws.”

“There is no law for this situation,” Gabriel replied coolly. “We represent the authority of the kingdom, and this is the decision we have reached. It is final.”

A storm of emotions crossed over Raphael’s face, but for all his faults, he was a clever man. He knew when he was beaten. With a deep sigh, he slowly began to roll up the sleeves of his own robe, baring his tattoos.

“This changes nothing,” he said. “You will never be secure on your throne, Castiel, because it was never meant for you. There will always be those who doubt you, and you will always fear them. If it is not me, there will be another who is willing to risk it all to see you gone.”

Castiel looked at him for a long moment, then turned to Anna. “Will it hurt?” he asked. 

“No.” Anna sounded almost regretful. “But he will feel the loss of them like a phantom limb for the rest of his days.”

“That will be enough.” Dean gave a satisfied nod. “If Lord Raphael has nothing else to say, you may begin.”

Moving quicker than expected, Anna grabbed hold of Raphael’s arm through the bars of his cell. He struggled briefly, then subsided, staring at Dean and Castiel with defiance in his eyes. As Anna began to murmur to herself, her own tattoos once again glowing with that slick shine, Raphael’s arms twitched in her grasp, the ink on his skin moving sluggishly at first but with increasing speed.

Dean stepped closer without even realizing he was moving, entirely fixated on the way Raphael’s tattoos seemed to melt from his skin, the lines becoming muddy and running together, the once beautiful designs now nothing but a mess of colours. Beside him, Castiel made a small noise, and Dean glanced over to see the look of horrified fascination on his face. It must have been difficult for him to see, the tattoos having so much more significance for him. Castiel’s hand was pressed against his own arm as though keeping himself safe, and when Dean glanced at Gabriel, he saw him mimicking the pose.

Though Anna had said it would not hurt, Raphael did not look unbothered by the process. His teeth were gritted, and though he made no noise, Dean could tell that he was holding himself back, the last remnants of his pride keeping him upright and silent through the process. And it was not quick: the intricate lines and swirls of ink were no longer clearly defined, but they were still there, clinging to his skin as though by his force of will alone.

For her part, Anna remained cool, her brow creased in concentration as she repeated her incantations over and over again. But as Dean watched, he saw the beads of sweat trailing down the side of her face, the way her arms trembled slightly even as her tattoos continued to pulse with their roiling light. He remembered what Castiel had told him, about the toll her magic took on her, and he prayed that for her sake, this would be over soon.

Raphael gasped, breaking his silence, as the puddles of colour on his arm suddenly lifted, hovering over his skin like a rainbow of smoke. With her free hand, Anna made a sharp motion, and the smoke dissipated, leaving nothing but clear skin behind on Raphael’s arm.

“It is done,” she announced, words ringing heavily in the silence. She dropped Raphael’s arm, stumbling slightly as she did, and Dean caught her around the shoulders, steadying her. She gave him a grateful look, leaning against him, as Raphael slowly examined his arm, his face as blank as the skin there.

Castiel lifted his head and met Raphael’s eyes. “You are no longer a citizen of Arxelle. I suggest you leave quickly, with what remains of your dignity. If you still possess any of the wisdom for which this kingdom is renowned, you will make no attempt to return here.”

There were many things Dean wished to say to Raphael, none of them complimentary, but he kept silent, allowing Castiel to have this moment. To face down the man who had attempted to have him killed, and to rest secure in the knowledge that he had won. 

“I do not expect we will see one another again,” Castiel concluded. “Indeed, I hope we will not.”

Turning on his heel, he began to walk to away. Dean followed behind more slowly, still supporting Anna, and Gabriel trailed after, casting an unreadable look back at Raphael as he did. Victor brought up the rear, a solid, reassuring presence against the gloom of the dungeons. 

Once they reached the main level of the palace, Anna seemed to breathe easier. She stepped away from Dean, inhaling deeply, and let the sleeves of her robe fall down to cover her arms once more. 

“What will you do now?” he asked her. 

She turned to look at Castiel, who was standing some distance away, expression distant. “I will stay, at least for a little while. This is not my place, not really, but I have missed my brothers.” A slight smile appeared on her face. “And I will have to get to know you under less stressful circumstances, I believe.”

Dean smiled back at her. “I look forward to it.” He bowed over her hand, and was pleased when she laughed, though it quickly turned to a cough.

The noise caught Castiel’s attention, and he came back to join them, a worried frown on his face. “Forgive me,” he murmured. “Anna, you must rest. You have done your part, and I thank you for it.”

Anna reached up and laid a gentle hand against Castiel’s shoulder. “We all had a part to play. Yours has not ended yet, little brother. You should also rest while you can.”

“Are you speaking as my sister, or as the wise and fearsome enchantress of Arxelle?” Castiel’s tone was teasing, but there was genuine apprehension in his eyes.

“Both,” Anna said softly. With another small cough, she turned to Gabriel. “Come, brother. Escort me to my chambers. You may regale me with the latest exploits of your young and enthusiastic temple attendants while I recover my strength.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, but offered his arm for Anna to lean against, waving to Dean and Castiel with the other. “You know where to find me, should you need my aid again.”

Dean responded with a wave of his own, and then he and Castiel were alone. Or nearly so. Victor pulled away from the guards at the entrance to the dungeons and offered them a brief salute. “Nothing to report, Your Grace. It has been quiet, most of the court having retired to their chambers. We have patrols sweeping the palace regularly, but I do not believe there is any danger at the moment.”

“A small blessing,” Castiel said under his breath. “I think we ought to take our people’s example, then.”

Dean nodded his agreement. “To your chambers, then, my lord?” He kept his tone light, hoping to coax a smile from Castiel, but he just nodded once and set off in that direction, leaving Dean to follow in his wake. 

He caught up to Castiel once inside the private corridors and reached out to lay a hand on his arm, but Castiel pulled away. Stung, Dean frowned at him, bringing his hands down back by his side. Was Castiel angry with him for some reason? More likely he was still shaken by what had just occurred, and Dean could not fault him for that, but all he wanted was to offer what comfort he could. They walked the rest of the way in silence, but as soon as the heavy door swung shut behind them, Castiel dropped heavily onto the bed, his head in his hands.

Approaching with caution, Dean sat beside him, making sure to keep a safe distance. If Castiel did not wish to be touched, he would respect that.

“Castiel?” he said gently. “My lord?”

With a shuddering sigh, Castiel looked up, and Dean was stunned to see that his eyes shone wetly. This business with Raphael had affected him far more deeply than Dean realized, it seemed, and he was only now allowing himself to show it. The contrast between his public face and the one he only ever allowed small glimpses of in private had never been more clear.

“It’s over now.” As soothing as he meant them to be, the words still felt inadequate to Dean’s ears. “It’s done. Raphael is likely leaving the palace as we speak, and we never have to see him again.”

Castiel shook his head. “It is not Raphael I am concerned with.”

Dean frowned. “Who, then?” Was he worried about Anna? She did seem somewhat frail, but Gabriel was looking after her, and they had the best healers readily available in case she worsened.

Rising to his feet, Castiel turned away, his back to Dean. “Everything he said, in his letter to your people...it was true. As was what he said now, in the dungeons.”

“What?” Dean climbed off the bed and crossed the room to join him. “Castiel, of course it wasn’t true.”

Castiel gave him a bitter smile. “You mean to tell me that you did not start taking your walks in the gardens to avoid me? That you trained with the guards so that you might have a reason not to be in my presence? You asked for your own chamber after one night together, Dean, I have never been under the illusion that you enjoy my company.”

“How can you say that?” Dean whispered. His heart thudded noisily in his chest. “Have I not-- that was a long time ago, Castiel. Surely you can see that things have changed.”

How could Castiel doubt him after the way they had spent the past night? Dean felt sick at the very thought. As far as he was concerned, he had made his position very clear. He would not allow Raphael’s poisonous words to tear them apart now.

“They have,” Castiel conceded, and Dean let out a sigh of relief. “But Dean--” He made a frustrated noise, running one hand through his hair. “You heard what he said. How I was never meant to be king.”

“Yes, though I have no idea how it is relevant.”

Castiel sighed. “I was never meant to be king,” he repeated. “But I have accepted that I am, and I have done my best to be a good king, to embrace the lot I have been given in life.” He raised his eyes to Dean’s, and they were full of regret. “You and I were never meant to marry.”

Dean reeled back as though he had been struck. “And so?” he demanded. “We have done the best we can with it, and Castiel, I think we have done well.”

“But it was never your choice!” Castiel shouted. He let out a groan, dropping back onto the bed. “It was never what you wanted, and I know you have done your best with it, Dean, you have, but you should not have to try so hard.” He spread his hands helplessly before him. “It should not be a burden on you, something you feel obligated to do. Not any longer.”

“What are you saying?” No matter how desperately he tried to understand, Dean could not fit the pieces together. He could not see where Castiel’s doubts were leading him, what wild conjecture was running through his mind.

“I’m saying I want you to have a choice.” Castiel looked up and met Dean’s eyes. “I’m saying that if you wish it, once she has recovered, I will ask Anna to remove your tattoos. Your connection to the land, and to me, can be undone.” He gave Dean a small, sad smile. “I’m saying I will let you go.”

Dean sank slowly onto the bed beside him. Never would he have imagined he would hear Castiel say those words. Not so long ago, he might have jumped at the chance to leave Arxelle, to return home and to be with Sam and Jess and even his father once more. To escape the constant scrutiny and pressure of the court, to feel like his old self again.

But things were different now. Or at least Dean had thought they were.

Swallowing heavily, he asked, “Is that what you want? You want me to go?”

“It isn’t about what I want.” Castiel looked away, his face as smooth and distant as it had been in the earliest days of the marriage. “The borders will be open soon. You may return, visit the friends you have made here. But you would not be bound to me any longer.”

“Do you wish to be free of me?” Dean hated the whine he heard in his voice, but he could do nothing to disguise it. 

“I told you, it has nothing to do with what I want.”

“That’s an utter load of shit.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Castiel, who turned to look at him, eyes wide with surprise. “This is a partnership, is it not? We make our decisions together. As rulers, and as husbands.”

Castiel flinched at the word. “Your decision to become my husband was made under duress,” he pointed out. 

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. Castiel made a valid point. Would Dean have ever agreed to this marriage if anything less than his and Sam’s lives were at stake? Likely not. But that did not mean that he wanted to escape it now.

He only had to convince Castiel of that, somehow. 

“You said you were never meant to be king, but you are,” Dean began. Castiel twisted around to look at him, his face still wretched. “And though you complain about the courtiers at times, and sometimes I know you wish you could have remained a studious, forgotten prince, you have done more than accept your role, Castiel, and we both know it.” He paused, searching for the right words. “You find strength in it, and you care deeply about how you rule. It gives you purpose, and for all your irritation, you love it, do you not?”

Castiel shrugged moodily. “I suppose, yes.”

“And then you say we were never meant to marry.” Dean shook his head at the absurdity of it all. “No, we were not. When does anything that was meant to be ever come to pass? Just as your rule is not perfect, neither are we. And I would not have it any other way.”

Raising his head, Castiel looked at Dean, the barest spark of hope shining in his eyes. “What are you saying?” he asked, echoing Dean’s earlier words.

These Arxellians and their dramatics. If Dean was to convince Castiel of anything, he knew he would have to make a lasting impression.

Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground, kneeling in front of Castiel. Carefully reaching out, he took both of Castiel’s hands in his own, feeling the jump of his pulse in his wrists, then moved his hand higher, tracing over the lines of Castiel’s tattoos. From the first time he had seen them, he had been struck by their beauty, the elegance of their lines and the boldness of their colours. 

“You said you wished to give me a choice,” he said, voice soft. Castiel nodded jerkily, eyes wide. Dean smiled up at him, putting as much reassurance into the expression as he could as he rolled up the sleeve of his own robe, baring his tattoos. “You know, the first few days after we were wed, I was startled every time I looked down and saw these markings on my arms. It took some time, but I adjusted to them, and the thought of being without them now is...distressing, to put it mildly. They are a part of me now. Just as you are.”

There was no noise other than the sound of their breathing. Castiel watched him, eyes wide and wary, and all Dean wanted was to wipe that uncertainty away from his face once and for all. “You wished to give me a choice,” he repeated. “I am choosing to stay.”

Castiel’s voice was rough. “To stay as my partner in ruling? As my friend?”

“To all of it.” Dean raised their joined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to them. “I choose this, Castiel. I choose you as my friend, my partner, my king.” He took a deep breath, praying he had not misread the situation entirely, that Castiel was seeking the same sort of confirmation he himself longed to hear. “I choose you as my husband. As my love.”

All the tension held in Castiel’s body drained away, and with a shuddering exhale, he drew Dean up towards him, falling back onto the bed as he did. Dean tumbled after him in a graceless tangle of limbs, but he did not care, not when Castiel was pressing kisses over every inch of his face, murmuring his name over and over again, such pure wonder and joy in his voice.

When Castiel’s lips finally found his, Dean melted into the kiss, bringing his arms up to wrap around him and keep him near. There was a desperation in the way their mouths moved against one another, a fierce urgency that ignited Dean’s desire, running through his body the way the way the lines of his tattoos ran across his arm.

Castiel pulled away for a moment, looking deep into Dean’s eyes. “I did not want you to go,” he admitted. “But I could not bear the thought of keeping you here against your will. Not when we knew there was a way to undo it.”

Dean hated knowing that he had somehow been the cause of that uncertainty. He kissed Castiel again, deeply, letting his body articulate what he could not find the words to express. Castiel responded in kind, twining his arms around Dean’s neck and pulling him closer, so they were pressed tightly against one another from head to foot.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Dean murmured as he moved to trail kisses down the side of Castiel’s neck. “I would not. I could not.”

“Nor could I,” Castiel said, a hitch in his breath as Dean’s mouth found a particularly sensitive spot. 

Dean tore himself away, looking down at Castiel’s face. Just as he had wished to earlier, he smoothed over the lines at the corners of his eyes. “I almost lost you once.” He shuddered, imagining all the ways it could have gone wrong, if he had been just a bit slower in arriving to Castiel’s chambers that night. 

“Hush.” Castiel kissed him again, slowly and sweetly. “I’m still here. We both are.”

With a shudder, Dean lost himself to the feeling of Castiel’s mouth on his. As they moved together, they carefully peeled away their robes from their upper bodies, both unconsciously seeking more contact, the reassurance of bare skin against bare skin, heartbeats pounding audibly in the quiet room. Dean groaned aloud as Castiel’s hands closed over his hips, holding him in place, their warmth spreading through his entire body. 

He would have been content with this, with the press of their bodies against one another, with their shared breath and their kiss-swollen mouths exchanging tender words. But Castiel squirmed below him, legs widening to allow Dean to rest between them, and when Dean looked down at him, his eyes burned with desire.

They had come so far from the first night they spent in this bed, when Dean put on a brave face and tried to use physical intimacy to forge a connection between them. When Castiel could barely look at him, and every word they exchanged led to an argument. 

Now here Castiel was, sighing beneath him, looking like every one of Dean’s wildest fantasies come to life. “More,” he begged, hands tightening on Dean’s hips. “Dean, I need--”

Dean groaned as he dropped a kiss to the centre of Castiel’s chest. “What, love? What do you need?”

“I need to feel you.” Castiel’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I need you--” he trailed off, a flush appearing in his cheeks. “I need you closer.”

“We can do that,” Dean said, carefully keeping his breathing in check at the very thought. Castiel was inexperienced, he knew, but he was not naive. Still, it was best to be certain exactly what he was asking for before proceeding. “But how?”

Castiel’s flush deepened, and he scowled up at Dean. “Must I say it?”

Laughing slightly at the look on his face, Dean kissed him again. “I want to hear you say it.” Then he sobered, gently brushing his knuckles across Castiel’s cheekbones. “I would do anything for you. With you. But I have no wish to pressure you, to--”

“I want you inside me,” Castiel said in a rush, interrupting Dean’s carefully planned speech.

Dean’s breath caught in his throat, and he slumped forward slightly. “Yes.” His voice was strangled, but he willed himself to remain composed. “Gods, yes.”

Keeping his eyes locked with Castiel’s, he slowly pulled off both of their robes, leaving them both bare. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, warming their exposed skin, and the heat in Castiel’s gaze lit Dean from the inside out. 

Gently, he reached out and stroked one hand up Castiel’s thigh, feeling his muscles tremble at the touch. Bracing that hand on the distractingly sharp cut on his hip, Dean leaned over and kissed him again, easing them both into contact once more. When he felt Castiel go pliant beneath him, he moved lower, trailing kisses down his chest and torso, nipping ever so lightly at the skin around his navel to see the way it made him squirm in pleasure. 

Dean looked up, and the trust in Castiel’s eyes nearly overwhelmed him. Castiel nodded, and Dean finally took his hard length in hand, stroking it slowly from root to tip as Castiel sighed, relaxing even further into the mattress.

There was a small jar of oil in the table near the bed, Dean knew. Reluctantly leaving off his ministrations, he reached over to find it, laughing at the way Castiel pouted as he did. He simply had to kiss that expression off his face, and as he did, he opened the jar with his free hand, then settled back between Castiel’s legs, gently nudging them further apart.

Pouring the oil over his fingers, Dean looked up at Castiel. “You’re certain?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes,” he said. 

There was no hesitation in his voice, only want. So Dean reached down between Castiel’s legs, stroking lightly with his oiled fingertip, carefully working it inside as gently as he could. Castiel gasped at the first press of his finger, but when Dean glanced up at him, he saw nothing but pleasure in his face. 

He looked so beautiful like this, flushed and desperate, already gripping tightly at the sheets. Dean shuddered, his own erection throbbing as he slowly worked Castiel open, sliding a second finger inside him and then back out.

“Dean,” Castiel murmured, his eyes slipping closed. “That feels so…”

“Is it good?” Dean was fairly certain he knew the answer, but he wanted to be sure. Wanted to give Castiel everything he deserved. 

“So good.” Castiel opened his eyes again, shining fiercely blue. He reached out and pulled Dean forward into a sloppy kiss, hips thrusting back against Dean’s hand. Dean surrendered to it gladly, and while Castiel was distracted, carefully slid a third finger inside him.

The noise that Castiel let out was one that Dean would never forget. His head fell back against the pillows as he shuddered, biting down on his lip. Dean stilled, letting him adjust to the strange new fullness, but soon enough Castiel was rocking back onto his hand, chasing it with his usual determination. His breathing was sharp and fast, his colour high, and Dean wondered if he could come like this, from Dean’s fingers alone.

But that was not what Castiel had asked of him. “More,” Castiel begged, clutching frantically at Dean’s shoulders. “Now, please. I’m ready.”

Trembling, Dean poured more oil out onto one hand, groaning as he wrapped it around his cock. Moving forward slightly, he positioned himself at Castiel’s entrance, waiting for his permission to press forward.

Castiel nodded desperately, hand wrapping around Dean’s hip to pull him forward. Slowly, Dean entered him, watching his face for any signs of distress. But Castiel just let out a long, shuddering sigh, and as soon as Dean was fully sheathed within him, he began to roll his hips, chasing his own pleasure with an abandon that took Dean by surprise. He pulled back, then drove forward once more, and Castiel’s lips parted on a deep moan that sounded suspiciously like Dean’s name.

“I’m here,” Dean murmured, hiding his face in the crook of Castiel’s shoulder. “I’m here with you, Castiel.”

“Stay,” Castiel replied, twisting his head to press a kiss into Dean’s hair. “Stay with me. Do not leave me.”

“I won’t.” Dean raised his head and sealed their mouths together as he thrust into Castiel’s body again. “I will not leave you.”

He continued to murmur promises into Castiel’s ear, alternating them with deep, luxurious kisses, as their lower bodies continued to move in an age-old rhythm. Castiel shifted beneath him, changing his angle, and they both gasped as the next thrust brought them even closer together. 

Dean did not think he could last much longer, not with the tight heat of Castiel’s body around him, not with the way Castiel sighed his name so prettily and ran his hands down Dean’s back, nails digging in just slightly. Reaching between them, Dean wrapped his oil-slicked hand around Castiel’s erection, prompting another low groan from him. 

“Let go,” he whispered. “Let go, my love.”

Castiel gave a broken cry, his hips lifting off the bed as his climax hit, spilling hot and white over his own stomach. Dean dropped his head back to Castiel’s chest, his hips stuttering as he neared his own peak, as Castiel pressed layers of kisses into the side of his neck.

“I want to feel you,” he said, and his voice was utterly wrecked, reverberating in Dean’s ear. “You feel so good inside me, Dean.” 

“Cas--” Dean could not even complete his name, too overcome by his pleasure. “Cas…”

Castiel placed a kiss right where Dean’s jaw met his neck, and Dean was lost. He spilled inside Castiel’s body with a moan that was more like a sob, slumping forward heavily in his husband’s arms. 

They lay like that for a few moments, Castiel still tracing lazy patterns on Dean’s back, but then with great reluctance, Dean pulled away and out of him, grimacing at the stickiness of their bodies. After the last time, though, someone had thoughtfully placed a few soft handkerchiefs in the table beside the bed, and Dean used one to wipe them both down, then tossed it aside. 

“I knew those would prove useful,” Castiel murmured, watching him through half-closed eyes.

Dean laughed and leaned over to kiss him. “How very optimistic of you.”

“Hopeful,” Castiel corrected, opening his eyes fully and smiling up at him. “And as you see, I was not disappointed.”

“No?” Dean asked hesitantly. He ran his hand down Castiel’s side, soothing. “Not disappointed?”

“Not in the slightest.” Castiel stretched, the very picture of sated contentment. “Rather tired, though.”

“Mmn-hmn.” Dean nudged him over to make more space for himself, rolling onto his side and pulling Castiel back against his chest. “We should sleep. It has been a rather eventful few days.”

“It has.” Castiel sighed and relaxed against him, but after a moment, he turned over, looking down into Dean’s face. “But before I forget…”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “I love you.”

Dean drew in a startled breath. Somehow, he had not expected to hear the words from Castiel, or at least not so soon. Castiel laughed softly, then kissed him again. “Is it such a surprise?”

“Yes,” Dean said once he finally found his voice. “But the best possible kind.”

“How strange.” Castiel gave him a smile of such pure happiness that Dean could not help but respond in kind. “If someone were to ask me how to describe our marriage, I think those are exactly the words I would use.”

Dean pulled him close and kissed him again, simply because he could. Because they were here, and they were alive, and they were in love. Arms still wrapped tightly around one another, they slowly drifted into sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

Court was subdued the following morning, exactly as Castiel had hoped. Other than a few carefully worded inquiries about all the sentences having been carried out, no one mentioned Raphael or the assassination attempt at all. Castiel was certain it was still being widely discussed in the more private spaces of the palace, but was relieved not to have to field any questions about it in public. 

Indeed, the courtiers seemed entirely distracted, paying far more attention to Anna, who attended the session with them, than they did to either Dean or Castiel. Though mostly recovered from the efforts of her spells the day before, she kept quiet, answering any of their questions politely but briefly. Gabriel had returned to the temple, muttering about his attendants allowing it to crumble in his absence, but promised to return for what he called a family dinner later that evening.

And Dean…

Castiel glanced over at him as Dean rose to his feet to conclude the morning’s talks. Some of the strain of the past few days had eased from the set of his shoulders, though there were still traces of shadows under his eyes. Castiel flushed to remember the reason they had not gotten much sleep the night before, his body pleasantly sore after their activities. Catching his eye, Dean gave him a wink, and Castiel felt his flush deepen. He thought he would have developed somewhat of an immunity to Dean’s charm after what they had shared together, but it appeared the opposite was true.

“Go with good fortune,” Dean finished, smiling out towards the crowd. Castiel rose just in time to echo his words, slipping his hand into Dean’s as he did. Idly, he wondered if they might have time to sneak away before heading to the gardens for their usual stroll. The private corridors of the palace had never seemed like such a blessing.

But instead, Dean descended the dais, tugging Castiel along with him, and drew Anna to her feet. “Will you walk in the gardens with us, my lady?” he asked, giving her a roguish grin.

She rolled her eyes at his antics, but nodded, allowing herself to be swept up in his enthusiasm just as everyone else always was. “If you promise to act as a buffer between myself and all these young lords and ladies staring at me with such fearful desire in their eyes, then glady.”

Frowning, Castiel looked out into the crowd, and noticed a number of heads turned their way, watching with interest as they moved towards the exit to the gardens. “Are you surprised, sister? They have not seen you for some time, and novelty is always attractive.”

“They look like moths drawn towards a flame,” Dean said under his breath, lifting a hand to hover near Anna’s flame-bright hair. “Happy to burn in your presence.”

“You mean the way the guards look at you when you spar with them, as though they cannot wait to collect bruises at your hands?” Castiel raised an eyebrow at him, and Dean scowled in response, but did not deny it. 

Anna laughed, moving to stand between them and link arms with them both. “And you, Castiel! Do you not remember the way the other students would gather around you, hanging on your every word in debates and lectures? We are a charming group indeed.”

“You never told me you were so popular.” Dean pouted, an expression that only increased Castiel’s desire for them to steal away so he could kiss it from Dean’s face. “Should I count myself lucky to have landed such a desirable husband?”

_Husband_. No matter how many times he had used the term or heard it used to refer to Dean since their marriage, it never failed to surprise Castiel. And the ease with which Dean used it now, the layers of meaning it had acquired over the months, particularly over the past few days, humbled him greatly. 

“No more lucky than I count myself,” he replied, smiling at Dean over Anna’s shoulder.

She made a grumbling noise under her breath, but the look she gave Castiel was fond. “If I am to be caught between your ridiculous affections, perhaps I ought to take my chances with the courtiers.”

“Forgive us.” Dean sobered quickly, his expression contrite. “I did intend to use this as an opportunity to know you better, my lady. I will attempt to limit my flirtation with your brother for the time being.”

Now it was Castiel’s turn to pout. “As much as I enjoy your flirtations, Dean, I believe that is a wise course of action. If we anger Anna, she might turn us into something dreadful.”

Dean’s eyes widened in surprise and not a small amount of trepidation. “I cannot tell if you are joking, and that frightens me most of all.”

“It’s no joke,” Anna said, a satisfied smirk on her face as she remembered the incident Castiel referred to. “I turned Gabriel into a badger once.”

They reached the gardens, a small group of courtiers trailing after them but maintaining a respectful distance for now. Dean was still looking at Anna with something between amazement and outright terror on his face, and Castiel could not help the laugh that bubbled up from his chest. 

“I’ll protect you, I promise,” he vowed. “I will not let her cast any spells on you.”

At that, Dean’s expression cleared, though his eyes remained sharp on Anna. “As a matter of fact, I did wonder about something relating to your spells.”

“Yes?” Anna kept her face composed, but Castiel knew she did not often enjoy discussing her magic on anyone’s terms but her own. He cast a warning look at Dean, silently asking him to tread carefully, and Dean nodded briefly before continuing.

“I understand that you were the one who designed Castiel’s tattoos, and many of the others I have seen.” Dean’s tone was neutral, and Castiel frowned at him, unsure where he was heading with this conversation.

“I did.” Anna smiled, patting Castiel’s arm lightly. “I’m quite proud of them.”

Dean drew in a deep breath, casting a nervous glance at Castiel as he did. “I wondered, then, if you might be willing to add something to mine.”

Anna blinked at him, clearly not having anticipated the request, but then she smiled gently. “I would be honoured.”

“You-- you wish to cover them up?” Castiel asked, his heart sinking in his chest. He thought, after Dean had so vehemently protested his suggestion of having them removed, that Dean admired his tattoos, that he celebrated them and what they meant.

“No, of course not.” Dean shook his head, wincing. “They are beautiful, and Meg’s talent is nothing to be scoffed at. But I wondered if I might be permitted to include something of my own heritage in them. A reminder to myself not to forget where I have come from, while also embracing where I am now.”

“It’s a lovely sentiment.” Anna reached out and pushed up the sleeve of Dean’s robe, examining the markings on his arm. “Have you given any thought to what you would like to add?”

They turned around a bend in the path, and Dean gestured to them towards the bench tucked away under an old willow tree. A distant expression crossed his face, but there was no sadness in it that Castiel could see, only fond remembrance. 

“My mother loved flowers,” Dean said softly, his eyes wandering around the lush landscape. “All flowers, but yellow roses in particular. After she died, my father had a yellow rose added to our family’s crest, in her honour.” He tapped the inside of his wrist, just above the narrow band of colour of that circled it. “I would like to do the same.”

For all that they had grown so much closer in recent weeks, Castiel had not heard Dean speak of his family for quite some time. He resolved to encourage him to do so more often, especially now that Dean was learning so much about Castiel’s own limited remaining family members. 

“I think that would look quite beautiful.” Anna tapped the spot Dean had indicated. “And there’s just enough room for it here.”

“I did give the matter some consideration, you know,” Dean teased. 

Castiel turned over his own wrist, looking at the same spot on his arm. There was a perfect blank patch of skin there as well. He pondered it a moment longer, then smiled to himself and looked up at Dean. “And so did I. What would you think about me doing the same?”

“Adding something to your tattoos?” Dean shrugged loosely. “I think it’s a fine idea.”

“Adding the same thing as you,” Castiel clarified. He hesitated, doubt creeping into his mind. Perhaps it was too much. He had no desire to insert himself into every piece of Dean’s narrative. Perhaps this was something he ought to keep for himself. 

But Dean simply gazed at him, mouth parted in surprise and something like awe in his eyes. “You would do that?”

“Yes.” Castiel kept his voice low, but he knew Dean would hear his earnestness. “You have adopted so many of our customs, so many of our practices, and sealed your fate with Arxelle. But this is a partnership, is it not?” He saw Dean’s quick intake of breath as he echoed his words from the night before. “I would like to do something for you. From all accounts, your mother was a wonderful woman, and a wise and just ruler. I believe she would be an excellent guiding point for us both as we move forward.”

Dean stared at him for a long, excruciating moment, then turned to Anna. “Forgive me,” he said, “but despite my earlier promise, I find myself overcome by a desire to sweep your brother into my arms and kiss him until the sun sets. Will you excuse us?”

With a rather inelegant snort, Anna rose to her feet. “Ah, young love. I leave you to it.” She tossed a wicked look over her shoulder at Castiel as she walked away. “Don’t forget, we expect to see you at dinner.”

Castiel buried his head in his hands, peeking out to see Dean sliding closer on the bench, eyes alight with mischief and pure, unfiltered affection. “Dean--”

He was cut off by Dean’s lips pressing against his. From somewhere nearby, he heard a startled gasp, an excited whisper, and he remembered that they were not alone in the gardens. But what did he care? They were married, after all. And more than that, they were in love. 

So he wrapped his arms around Dean, heedless of the stares and the murmurs, and drew him closer. If they could stay this way until the sun began to set and they had to dress for their dinner, well, then, Castiel would consider it a good day indeed.

They did not spend the entire day kissing in the gardens, somewhat to Castiel’s disappointment. Eventually, they disentangled themselves, both breathing heavily, and made their way back inside. Dean followed closely behind Castiel as they walked to his chambers, and once they were inside, his earlier confidence vanished in the blink of an eye.

“Dean?” Castiel asked, sensing the change in his mood. “Is something the matter?”

“Not exactly.” Dean crouched down, clicking his tongue at Nyx, who deigned to greet him by pressing her face against his outstretched hand before wandering away again. “There is something I wished to discuss with you, though.”

“Of course.” Castiel sat at the table, gesturing to Dean to join him. His unease must have shown on his face, because Dean reached out to take as his hand as he sat down, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I wondered how you might feel about me taking up permanent residence here.” With his free hand, Dean waved to indicate the room around them. “I-- I do not wish to be apart from you, Castiel, and especially not at night.”

As they so frequently did, his words had the simultaneous effect of melting Castiel’s heart while also sending all the blood in his body rushing towards his groin. He bit his lip to hold back a groan, nodding vigorously instead. “If you would be comfortable doing so, I would be most happy to have you here. With me.”

Dean raised their joined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss against the back of Castiel’s. “Then I will ask Kevin to begin bringing over my belongings immediately.”

Despite the utter joy he felt at this new arrangement, Castiel pretended to frown. “There is one problem, though.”

“What’s that?”

Sighing heavily, Castiel said, “If you are here, how am I to gaze longingly down at you while we stand on our separate balconies under the light of the stars?”

Dean broke into laughter, his eyes crinkling up in mirth and his shoulders shaking. “If you truly wish it, I could return to my old chambers on occasion. Let you admire me from afar, then meet you halfway down the corridor, both of us too overcome by our desire to wait until I arrive here.”

“We may just have to try that someday.” Castiel grinned at him, absurdly pleased at how easy it was to share such a moment now. “But let us become accustomed to having each other near before we voluntarily create distance between us, please.”

“Oh, very well.” Dean sighed, dropping Castiel’s hand and stretching his arms over his head. “I suppose I ought to have Kevin bring my things over now. I have no wish to be late for dinner and to cause your siblings to wonder where we have gone to. I do not think I would make a very good badger.”

“No you would not,” Castiel agreed. He crossed the room to ring for Hannah, and within minutes, she knocked lightly on the chamber door. 

“How may I help you, Your Grace?” Peering inside the room, she gave a second curtsey, smiling at Dean. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

“Hello, Hannah.” Dean came to join them, smiling politely at her. “I’m afraid we have both good and bad news for you.”

A slight frown crossed her features, but Hannah’s eyes remained steady as she looked at Castiel for clarification. “What do you mean?”

“I believe what King Dean is trying to say is that he means to move himself and his belongings into these chambers,” Castiel answered. “If you would alert Kevin, I’m sure the two of you will ensure the process goes smoothly.”

“Oh.” Hannah’s eyes widened, and she looked between the two of them with a small smile playing around her lips. “Yes, of course, Your Grace. I will see to it immediately.”

Dean slid up behind Castiel, wrapping his arms around his waist as Hannah bobbed another curtsey and disappeared. Castiel arched into his touch, leaning back so his head rested against Dean’s shoulder. He felt Dean turn his head, then the brief press of Dean’s lips against his forehead, and Castiel hummed happily to himself.

“All the attendants will be talking of this.” Pressed as close as they were, Castiel could feel the rumble in Dean’s chest as he spoke. “We’re going to cause quite a stir, you know.”

“Good.” Castiel turned in his arms and tilted his face up, shameless. Ever obliging, Dean leaned down to kiss him, his arms tightening around Castiel’s waist. “Let them talk.”

As their kiss deepened, Castiel slowly but steadily backed them further into the room until Dean hit the edge of the bed and sat down heavily, pulling Castiel after him. It was absurd, the way Castiel wanted him. Constantly, ferociously, insatiably. It was not at all an exaggeration for Castiel to say he had never felt this way before. 

Once, the knowledge that Dean had far more practical experience in these matters might have given him pause, made him doubt himself. But when Dean gazed at him with such tenderness in his eyes, touched him with such reverence in his hands, kissed him with such love on his lips, how could Castiel feel anything but blessed? They were here together now, and the past was the past. All Castiel cared about was this, the narrowing of his world to the feeling of Dean’s body under his, the sound of his sharply indrawn breath when Castiel gently bit down on his earlobe.

A knock at the door broke through the haze of lust clouding Castiel’s sense. He let out a groan, dropping his head down to rest on Dean’s shoulder. “Enter,” Dean called out. 

Castiel moved to clamber off his lap, but Dean held him fast. “What are you--” Castiel protested. “Dean. It’s likely Hannah and Kevin with your things.”

“And so?” Dean gave him a rakish grin. “As our personal attendants, I expect they will walk in on us in far more compromising positions than this.”

“You are a menace,” Castiel informed him. He dropped one last kiss on Dean’s lips before standing, adjusting his robe as best as he could. “If we want to maintain a good relationship with our people, we should not scar them with the evidence of our newly-discovered passion for one another.”

“Maybe so.” Dean turned to grin at Kevin as he entered the room, laden down with the contents of Dean’s wardrobe. “I think Kevin is happy for us, though. Are you not?”

“Delighted, Your Grace.” Kevin gave them a brief bow before throwing open the wardrobe and pushing some of Castiel’s things aside to make room for Dean’s. “These chambers are much closer to my own quarters. I calculate that I can now sleep in for an additional three minutes every morning.”

“You see?” Dean winked at Castiel. “This is to the benefit of all.”

He did make a good point. It would be good for Hannah to have Kevin’s assistance, and for Kevin to continue to flourish under her tutelage. They already seemed to work well together. As they brought in the last of Dean’s belongings, Castiel could not deny the sense of pride it brought him to see them slowly being interspersed with his own. 

Once everything was installed in its proper place, Kevin and Hannah remained to help them dress for their dinner with Anna and Gabriel. As much as both Dean and Castiel wished to return to their normal schedule of events, they had decided not to invite any other guests for this first night, wanting a chance to truly spend time with Castiel’s siblings under less stressful circumstances.

Though Dean did seem slightly nervous, his fingers drumming against his sides as they made their way towards the dining chamber. It was rather endearing, the way he could face down armed assassins and sneering courtiers without blinking an eye, but was struck by nerves at the prospect of having dinner with his spouse’s family. Not that they were an ordinary family, of course. 

Reaching out, Castiel took Dean’s hand in his own. Dean cast him a sheepish look, but kept their fingers laced together as they entered the chamber to find Anna and Gabriel waiting for them.

“How fares the temple?” Castiel asked, giving Gabriel a brief embrace. “It has not fallen to pieces in your absence, has it?”

“No, fortunately.” Gabriel sighed, but his eyes were fond. “Those attendants of mine have done well. For all their youth, they have good hearts, and surprisingly wise minds.”

“I enjoyed their company, what little time I spent in it,” Dean said. “We ought to make another visit soon.”

“That would be wise.” Anna leaned forward in her seat, chin propped on her hands. “You do have the Festival of the Moon approaching, after all. What better time to show the people how united you are, how strong the kingdom remains?”

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose, warding off the headache he could already feel forming. “As much as I appreciate the advice, might we forgo the political talk for the evening? I am certain there will be many more opportunities to raise the subject.”

Anna lifted one eyebrow at him. “Not with me, necessarily. I have not yet decided how long I plan to stay.”

Beneath the table, Dean’s hand settled just above Castiel’s knee, a steadying touch. “Stay until the festival, then,” he suggested. “As you said, it’s only three weeks away. Celebrate with us.”

Castiel cast a hopeful glance in Anna’s direction. The fact that she did not immediately disagree was encouraging. Toying with the end of her long braid, she nodded slowly. “Very well.”

“Excellent.” Dean slapped the surface of the table, grinning broadly. “And with that settled, no further talk of politics for the rest of the evening.”

Gabriel winked at Castiel, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “I suppose we’ll have to regale you with stories from Castiel’s wild youth instead.”

“What wild youth?” Castiel did his best to adopt an innocent expression. “I spent most of my time in the library.”

“Yes, where you constantly argued with the librarians, hoarded books like a dragon hoards gold, and sulked mightily at anyone who attempted to draw you away for any length of time.” Anna took a sip of her wine, her eyes dancing with merriment. “Even with the promise of a first-hand look at whatever spells I was practicing at that given time.”

Dean gave Castiel an incredulous look. “You chose your books over _magic_?”

Flushing, Castiel made a dismissive motion, holding his head high. “It seemed the more interesting option at the time.”

“I was always jealous of your spells,” Gabriel said, a slight downward curve to his lips. Castiel blinked at him in surprise, never having expected such a statement from him. “I used to hope someday I might suddenly acquire the ability to perform them, but--” he shrugged-- “it never came to pass.”

“You’ve never told me that before.” Anna tilted her head to the side, her eyes soft. “I suppose there is much we have not said to one another. All of us.”

Castiel nodded, his throat suddenly tight. “This is a good start, though.”

“It is,” Gabriel nodded. “And to that effect, I’d like to take this opportunity to tell you how pleased I am to finally see you settled down, Castiel. Out of all of us, you were the one I thought least likely destined for bachelorhood, and I am happy to have been correct.”

Dean leaned forward, eyes alight with interest. “Oh, come, Gabriel. Surely you must have exploits of your own to share with us. As far as I understand, Arxellian priests take no vows of celibacy.”

“Indeed we do not.” Gabriel’s eyes widened in horror at the very thought. “I would never have agreed to such a thing.”

“Oh, Gabriel’s exploits were famous,” Anna said, laughing to herself. “Why do you think I turned him into a badger in the first place? He broke a dear friend of mine’s heart, and he needed to be punished.”

Castiel smiled to himself, remembering the situation in question. “Even I was drawn out of the library at the word that a badger was rampaging through the halls of the palace.”

“You would have rampaged too, if you suddenly found yourself transformed into a four-legged beast!” Gabriel exclaimed. He pointed a threatening finger in Anna’s direction. “I have always said that the punishment far exceeded my crime. I made no promises, and broke none.”

“And you were returned to your true form in due time,” Anna said placidly. “And now, years later, we can sit and laugh about it as a distant memory.”

“I should have liked to see it,” Dean remarked, a wistful look on his face. He turned to Anna, his most charming grin sliding over his lips. “Perhaps you could give me a demonstration?”

Gabriel pushed his chair away from the table so quickly he nearly lost his balance, attempting to hide behind Castiel as Anna raised her hands, the threat of the gesture completely undermined by the laughter spilling from her lips. 

They passed the rest of the evening in much the same way, teasing and reminiscing and enjoying each other’s company. Castiel was pleased at how well Dean fit with his siblings, how easily they accepted him as a member of their family. 

And as they finished their dessert, all of them slightly flushed from the wine and the merriment, Anna rose and produced her paints from a small bag under the table, giving Dean and Castiel an inquisitive look. “Do you still wish me to add to your tattoos?”

Dean nodded immediately. “Yes.”

Castiel echoed him only seconds later, already pushing up the sleeve of his robe. Anna moved to Dean’s side first, taking only a few minutes to paint a perfect miniature yellow rose on the inside of his wrist. Smiling at him, she spoke the ritual words, and the rose glowed faintly for a moment before fading into Dean’s skin as though it belonged there.

“Your turn, brother.” Anna gestured to him to extend his arm, and Castiel did, sneaking a glance at Dean as he did. Dean’s eyes were soft as he watched Anna draw the matching symbol of Castiel’s wrist. It fit perfectly, despite being different in style than his other markings. He felt the warm flare of Anna’s magic as the paint became permanent, and then it was done.

“There.” Anna gave him a satisfied smile. “I must say, I’m quite proud of them. Despite my lack of practice in recent years.”

“It’s beautiful.” Dean’s voice was soft as he traced over the new tattoo. “Thank you.”

“It was my honour,” Anna replied. She raised a hand to her mouth to cover a yawn. “But I think that ought to conclude the festivities for the night.”

“Of course.” Castiel rose and pressed a light kiss to her cheek. “I apologize for keeping you this late.”

“Do not flatter yourself.” She tapped him lightly on the chest. “You should know by now that I make my own decisions.”

“You do indeed.” Gabriel stood as well, sighing contentedly. “And they are generally good ones. I believe I will retire as well.”

“Goodnight,” Dean offered, smiling at them both as he linked his arm through Castiel’s. “Thank you for joining us.”

With a last wave, they parted ways. Castiel caught Dean yawning a few times as they made their slow way back towards his chambers. Their chambers, now. Castiel pushed open the door, stooping to acknowledge Nyx with a scratch behind the ears as Dean began to undress, the moonlight spilling from the window over his body.

“I had so many plans for the rest of this evening,” he said, letting his robe fall to the ground in a graceless heap. “But I find myself utterly exhausted.”

Castiel smiled and pulled back the covers on the bed. “Rest, then. I’m sure we will have plenty of time for your plans later.”

Dean winked at him as he climbed into bed, relaxing against the pillows with a sigh. Castiel smoothed his hair away from his forehead and pressed a gentle kiss there. “Rest,” he repeated. “I’ll join you shortly.”

“I like your family,” Dean mumbled sleepily, his eyes already drifting closed. “I am happy that you have them here with you. With us.”

“As am I.” Castiel looked down at the new tattoo on his wrist, an idea forming in his mind. He glanced back at Dean, the lines of his face smooth in sleep, and smiled to himself. 

Crossing the room, he sat at the table and found a piece of parchment and a quill. And then, with the steady sound of Dean’s soft breathing filling the room, Castiel began to compose a letter.


	20. Chapter 20

The day of the festival dawned grey, but there was a softness and a stillness to the morning that Dean felt was appropriate for the occasion. It was early yet, and he turned over on his side, rubbing his face against the pillow as he considered going back to sleep.

However, there were other ways to spend this brief window of privacy before the flurry of activity began for the day, and certain parts of Dean’s body were extremely interested in pursuing those options instead.

He shifted again, pressing his lower body against the mattress, but froze when Castiel mumbled something under his breath. Dean did not mean to wake him, truly, but a few seconds later, those blue eyes blinked open, still slightly bleary from sleep. 

“Go back to sleep,” Castiel said, his words muffled by the pillows. He rubbed a hand over his face, yawning. “It’s early yet.”

“It is.” Dean smiled down at him. “And that means we have plenty of time.” He drew the sheets away from himself, noting with satisfaction the way Castiel’s eyes were immediately drawn to his newly-revealed body. “Do you really wish to spend it sleeping?”

Castiel drew his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes warming, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by another yawn. He looked so displeased at the rudeness of his own body that Dean simply had to kiss him, an affectionate press of his lips that quickly turned deeper. Castiel melted beneath him, his arms winding around Dean’s neck and pulling him closer, both of them kicking at the sheets so they could press together with nothing between them.

Dean mouthed his way along the sharp line of Castiel’s jaw, enjoying the way it made him tremble, then down the column of his throat. Castiel’s hands were tight at his hips now, pulling him insistently nearer so Dean had no choice but to straddle him. Castiel gave him a smug smile, as though this had been his plan all along, and Dean kissed him again, completely at his mercy.

He rocked his hips downward, feeling the press of Castiel’s erection against his backside. Castiel laughed, his eyes darkening further as he pressed up to meet Dean’s movement. “You want--”

“Yes.” Dean nodded with enthusiasm. “Yes, please.”

“Then you can do all the work.” Lazily, Castiel reached between them, wrapping his hand around his hard length and stroking it slowly. “You seem to have far more energy this morning.”

Dean could find no lie in that statement. He leaned over to find their jar of oil, eyes fixed on Castiel’s hand as it moved over his cock. Gods, it was a sight to behold, his long body spread out beneath Dean, the tattoos on his arm shifting with each pass of his hand. Catching his eye, Castiel grinned up at him, utterly confident.

Well. Dean would have to wipe away that smug look somehow. He sat up slightly, trailing one hand down his own chest, lingering over his nipple, teasing, and watched as Castiel’s eyes hungrily tracked his movements. Pouring a measure of the oil over his hand, he reached between his own legs, stroking over his entrance with just the right amount of pressure. He made no attempt to hold back his moan at how good it felt, his eyes fluttering closed for just a moment as he pressed inside himself. 

Castiel’s unoccupied hand tightened on Dean’s hip and Dean opened his eyes again, looking down to meet his heated stare. As he slipped a second finger inside himself, he leaned forward and pressed their mouths together, sighing into Castiel’s mouth. It was so good. It was always so good. 

By the time he was open enough to take Castiel inside him, Dean’s entire body felt alight, pleasure coursing through his veins like wildfire. Castiel’s hands were steady at his hips again, his eyes wide and filled with both lust and affection as he watched Dean slowly sink down onto his length. Dean groaned at the feeling of it, the heat and the fullness, body already moving in the familiar rhythm as he attempted to maintain some semblance of composure.

Judging by the way Castiel’s breathing quickened, he was having the same issue. Dean raised himself up, then sank down again, deeper this time, and Castiel groaned, pulling him forward as he did. Dean grinned down at him, triumphant. “I thought I was going to do all the work?”

Castiel gave him an exasperated look and removed his hands from Dean’s hips, lowering them to the bed on either side of his body. He raised one eyebrow in challenge, and Dean laughed again, bending to kiss him, which had the pleasant side effect of changing the angle of their joining and lighting up the bundle of nerves inside him. “You are terrible,” he murmured against Castiel’s lips. “Absolutely terrible.”

But his body continued to move, his speed increasing as he set his own tempo, movements somewhat erratic without the guiding pressure of Castiel’s hands on him. Castiel’s mouth parted on another sigh as Dean twisted himself just so, and Dean did not think it would take much longer before they both reached their climax.

So he slowed slightly, taking himself in his hand as he continued to move up and down, feeling the first shudders of his orgasm spreading through his body. He desperately tried to stave it off, wanting to see Castiel come first, but Castiel had other ideas.

“Do it,” he encouraged, his dark eyes and hoarse voice at odds with the studied casualness with which he lay there. His hands twitched on the sheets as though desperate to touch Dean again, but he held himself still. “Come for me, Dean. Let me see you.”

With a few more jerky movements and one last stroke of his hand, Dean did, spilling over his own fist with a drawn-out sigh. Castiel was still hard inside him, and Dean considered pulling himself off and finishing him with his hand, but Castiel, apparently, had other ideas.

Dean found himself flipped onto his back, Castiel sliding out of him for only a second before he was pressing back inside. Dean let out a breathless laugh and wound his arms around Castiel’s neck, letting his legs fall wider apart to give him more space to settle between them. 

“You are the most incredible thing,” Castiel whispered hotly against his neck, putting the full force of his surprisingly powerful body behind his thrusts. Sensitive and spent, Dean could do nothing but let out a wanton moan as Castiel slammed into him, all earlier tiredness gone in an instant. “The most precious thing.”

If he hadn’t just come, Dean thought he might do so again just from Castiel’s words, the way they rumbled in his ear as Castiel pressed forward one more time, his forehead dropping down onto Dean’s as he spilled inside him. His weight was comforting as he slumped forward, and Dean gently traced abstract patterns over the muscles of his back as they both steadied themselves.

Rolling off him, Castiel exhaled deeply. “I suppose we ought to clean ourselves up now.”

“Yes.” Dean reached out and poked him in the side, laughing at the dark look Castiel gave him in response. “You cannot pretend tiredness now, not after that effort.”

“I’ve exhausted myself once more,” Castiel protested. “You’ll have to carry me to the bath.”

Rolling his eyes fondly, Dean swung himself down from the bed and tugged Castiel towards him. Castiel batted his hands away ineffectively as Dean hoisted him by the waist and carried him to the bathing room despite his protests. Sliding down from his arms, Castiel took Dean’s face between his hands and kissed him sweetly, stealing his breath away. “I love you,” he said softly.

Dean made no reply other than to sink down into the warm water and pull Castiel in beside him, their limbs entwining naturally. He pressed a kiss to the top of Castiel’s head and relaxed, knowing they would soon have to put themselves on display for the entire kingdom to see. But for now, it was just them, and this was exactly where Dean wanted to be.

Once they were bathed and dressed for the day, Dean expected they would make their way to the temple to begin preparations for the festival. It would officially begin at sundown, which was occurring earlier as summer turned to autumn once more, but he knew it required some advance preparation much like their marriage ceremony had.

Which was why he was surprised when they left their chambers and Castiel led him not towards the temple, but deeper into the palace. 

“Where are we going?” Dean frowned, looking around the corridor with confusion. “Have the plans changed?”

Castiel just gave him an enigmatic smile and a shrug, saying nothing. Dean narrowed his eyes at him, wondering what it could mean, but Castiel was clearly in good spirits, so he had no reason to worry. 

They stopped in front of what Dean recognized as a small audience room, and Castiel turned to look at him, almost shy in the way he peered through his lashes. “I--” he started, then shook his head. “Well. It’s too late now. It seemed a good idea at the time.”

He pushed the door open, and more confused than ever, Dean stepped through. 

What he saw on the other side drew him up short, all the air leaving his lungs in a rushed exhale. “Sam?”

How was this even possible? Dean took another step into the room, barely believing his own eyes when he took in Jess rising to her feet beside Sam, looking healthier and stronger than she had for years. They both wore matching grins on their faces, growing wider as Dean crossed the room towards them and fell into their arms with a glad cry.

Dean stood in their embrace from a long moment, entirely overwhelmed by his happiness at seeing them both again. Eventually, he drew back, looking up into their faces and shaking his head. “But how did you--”

He knew the borders were being opened, but no official pronouncement had yet been made. Technically, Sam was a citizen of Arxelle through blood, but did that extend to Jess? Suddenly concerned for her safety, he turned back to Castiel, who was watching them with a soft smile on his face.

Soft, but not at all surprised. The last piece of the puzzle clicked into place, and Dean sucked in a breath at the sheer generosity of it all. “You invited them,” he said slowly. “You knew how much I wanted to see them, and you…”

Castiel nodded. “I sent them a letter a few weeks back. I wanted to surprise you.”

“You certainly did.” Dean looked back at Sam and Jess, shaking his head in disbelief once more. “Gods, it’s good to see you both.”

They took their seats at the table, Castiel finally crossing the room to join them. “It’s good to see you again, Sam,” he said. One corner of his mouth twitched in a wry smile. “And under far happier circumstances.”

Sam laughed, evidently holding no bitterness against Castiel for their last encounter. “Indeed. Thank you for extending the invitation to us.”

“We owe you a great deal,” Jess said. She inclined her head towards Dean, including him in her statement. “Both of you.”

Dean snorted and made a dismissive motion with his hand. “I’m just happy to see you looking so well,” he told her. “We heard you were on the mend, but Jess, I can barely believe it.”

“Billie and Pamela were incredible. I’ve never felt better, never felt stronger. I would like to see them again, while we’re here.” Jess reached out and patted Dean on the shoulder. “Only after we’ve tired of your company, of course.”

“Oh, of course.” Dean laughed, reaching out to tug playfully at one of her golden curls. “That should only take, what, an hour?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “We’ll have to find other ways to occupy ourselves, then. I’m not riding all the way back to Pellia today.”

“How long do you plan to stay?” Dean asked, leaning forward with interest. His mind was already racing with all the possibilities of how they could spend that time. They would both enjoy the library, and perhaps a tour of the countryside surrounding the capital if the weather permitted…

“Not as long as we wish.” Sam’s voice sobered, his eyes showing his regret. “Three or four days. We have a coronation to prepare for at home, after all.”

In his excitement, Dean had almost forgotten. Though he was disappointed they would not be able to stay longer, he understood. “How is everything? How is Father?”

“Well enough.” Sam gave a little shrug, the one Dean knew all too well. The one that said he was choosing his words with care. “He sends his regards.”

“But does not bother to convey them himself.” Dean regretted the words the instant he spoke them, but he could not find it in his heart to remain bitter for long. His father had lost interest in his life a long time ago, and Dean had made his peace with it. Mostly.

Castiel’s mouth tightened, though, and he reached out to squeeze Dean’s shoulder. “I did include him in the invitation.”

Dean turned to give him a reassuring smile. “I’m sure you did. His choices are his own, and his to wrestle with.” He took a deep breath, looking back at Sam and Jess. “I am not displeased with our visitors in either quantity or quality.”

They would talk about it eventually, he knew. He and Sam would have to discuss the situation in Pellia, what it would mean when Sam took the throne, what to expect. And he had other questions he wanted to raise, about Benny and Gwen and what they had told Sam, how much he knew about the events that had taken place here a few weeks ago 

But those questions could wait. For now, Dean wanted to enjoy this.

“I assume you will be attending the festival?” he asked, looking between Sam and Jess. “You do not wish to miss the sight of me in my ceremonial robes, I assure you.”

“I was at your wedding, you know.” Sam gave him a pointed look. “I still find it hard to believe you did not trip and make a spectacle of yourself.”

Dean laughed, exchanging an amused glance with Castiel. “I’ve gotten better. But it is always a fear of mine.”

“We will be there,” Jess said with a smile. “Castiel specifically requested we arrive today for that reason.”

“He is a clever one, isn’t he.” Dean winked at Castiel and was gratified to see him blush. “And to think he managed to not ruin the surprise!”

“It was difficult not reaching out to you myself,” Sam admitted with a laugh. “I’m not accustomed to keeping secrets from you.”

Dean arched one eyebrow at him. “That’s strange, because as I recall, about six months ago you made a secret plan to sneak into Arxelle all alone.”

Sam scowled in protest, but both Jess and Castiel’s shoulders shook with their amusement. “You must admit, in the end, it worked out rather well,” Castiel said.

Looking at all of the beloved faces surrounding him, Dean couldn’t help but agree. “Yes,” he said. “I suppose it did.”

They passed the rest of the morning in happy conversation, introducing Jess to some of the specialties of Arxellian cuisine over their morning meal. Dean was pleased to learn that they were planning to hold off on their wedding until after Sam was crowned king and matters in Pellia had settled somewhat, since it made it more likely that he and Castiel would be able to make the journey to attend. Knowing they would be able to travel freely between the two lands eased a pressure Dean had not even realized still weighed upon him, and every time he met Castiel’s eyes, he did his best to convey his gratitude for arranging this visit. He rubbed lightly at the rose tattoo on the inside of his wrist, never feeling so more blessed in the position he occupied. 

Eventually, they did have to leave to prepare for the festival. Dean stood from the table with reluctance, sweeping first Jess and then Sam into another embrace. “If there is anything you need, anything at all, the palace attendants will be more than happy to assist you.”

“I’m sure they will.” Sam gave him a broad grin. “Now go put on your robes, so we might be awed by your royal presence tonight.”

Dean rolled his eyes and reached out to smack his brother, but Sam dodged easily, laughing at him. Castiel and Jess traded looks of long resignation, and Dean smiled to see the way they had already grown comfortable with one another. He hoped there would be many more opportunities for them to share moments just like this, all four of them. Anna and Gabriel as well, someday. A true joining of their families.

For now, they had their duties to the kingdom. With a last wave, Dean and Castiel left the room, making their way towards the temple. As soon as they entered the private corridor, Dean stopped, reaching for Castiel’s hand and drawing him in for a long, deep kiss.

“What was that for?” Castiel asked when they parted, his eyes wide but pleased.

“Thank you.” Dean pressed another kiss to his lips, softer this time. It had taken a great deal of restraint to not do this the instant he realized what Castiel had done, but he was glad he had waited until they were alone. “You cannot imagine how much it means to me, seeing them again.”

Castiel smiled and tilted his face up for another kiss. “Good,” he murmured. “I like to see you happy, Dean.”

“You are proving very good at making me so.” Dean kissed him one last time before reluctantly pulling away. “And if we did not have an incredibly important ceremony to ready ourselves for, I would do my best to return the favour.”

“You already have.” Castiel gave him a brilliant smile, then slipped his hand into Dean’s as they set off down the corridor again. 

Exiting near the rear of the palace, they were joined by Victor, Charlie, and the same two temple attendants who had helped Dean prepare for his wedding. He wondered if Gabriel had arranged this, and was struck by the generosity of the gesture. “It is good to see you again, my young friends,” he said, giving them a broad smile. 

Inias and Hael both bowed in response. “And you as well, Your Grace,” Hael said. “Please, follow us.”

It felt slightly strange, retracing the steps he had taken towards his wedding to Castiel now. Things were so different, and never would he have imagined just how much so. Castiel gave him a fond look and squeezed his hand lightly. “Are you nervous?” he asked.

“No.” Dean shook his head firmly. “Not at all. I’m looking forward to this, actually.”

“Good.” Castiel gave him an approving look. “As am I.”

When they reached the temple, they found Gabriel waiting for them. He gave them a brief bow as Victor and Charlie silently peeled away to patrol the perimeter of the grounds. “Castiel, you know what to expect. Dean, it’s nothing to worry yourself over. It’s a lot like what you did before your wedding.”

“I guessed as much,” Dean said wryly. “More quiet contemplation.”

Castiel patted his shoulder sympathetically. “But then the underground pool,” he pointed out. “It’s worth it, in my opinion.”

“No funny business.” Gabriel gave them a stern look, though his lips twitched in amusement. “I won’t have you defiling our sacred spaces.”

Dean snorted with amusement at the idea, though Castiel flushed, looking faintly guilty. Almost as though he had been considering it. “Another time,” Dean whispered in his ear.

Gabriel frowned at them, shaking his head from side to side. “Newlyweds,” he scoffed. “Very well. Off you go. I will see you here in a few hours.”

Inias and Hael led them away, back into the lower levels of the temple Dean remembered from his last time here. This time, though, when he was left in that small room to clear his mind, he was not alone. Castiel remained with him, and in his presence, Dean was able to relax, to focus his thoughts on the ceremony ahead. Castiel’s hand in his reminded him of the duty they both had to their people, and Dean had no intention of allowing this festival to be ruined by his own carelessness. It mattered too much to the people, and to Castiel. 

They only had an hour of contemplation, and Dean was surprised at how quickly it passed. Soon enough, they were escorted to the underground cavern and the enormous pool, and after their purification was complete, it was time to dress. 

Inias assisted them both, wrapping the heavy folds of fabric with care. The robes were stunning, even by Arxellian standards. Made of the softest grey cloth, they shone with silver and gold embroidery, and Dean knew they would look magnificent under the light globes of the temple. He caught Castiel’s eye and let out a low whistle. “This really is an important occasion. I’ve never worn anything so fine in my life.”

“It suits you.” Castiel’s eyes swept appreciatively over his form, and Dean preened under his gaze. “You look magnificent.”

“So do you.” Dean drank in the sight of him, the way the robe fell over the breadth of his shoulders, the silver circlet gleaming on his brow. A wave of affection swept over him, and in two quick strides he was across the room, taking Castiel’s hand in his once more. “I’m so proud of you,” Dean said. “I don’t know that it matters, but it’s the truth. You’ve come so far, and I am awed by your commitment to the people, to the kingdom. I’m just-- so proud of you.”

Castiel’s face went soft, his mouth parted in surprise. He started to say something, and then stopped, shaking his head slowly from side to side. Dean waited patiently until he finally recovered enough to say, “It matters.”

“Good.” Dean reached out and cupped Castiel’s face in his hand. “Then let us go show our people that they have two dedicated, committed, dashingly handsome kings at their service.”

The crinkles around Castiel’s eyes deepened as he laughed. “Yes,” he agreed. Looking over at Inias, he gave him a brief nod. “We are ready.”

“Excellent.” Inias gave them another bow. “King Castiel, you will follow me, and enter from the right. King Dean, if you will follow Hael, you will enter from the left. The High Priest will be waiting for you in the middle.”

Dean blew Castiel a kiss as they parted. “Try not to trip!” he called out. He heard Hael’s muffled giggle and gave her a wink as she led him towards the entrance to the temple’s main room. 

“Good luck, Your Grace,” she said with an elegant curtsey. “It has been an honour to assist you again.”

Giving her a brief smile of thanks, Dean squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. At her signal, he entered the room, all his attention focused on the place where Gabriel stood waiting for them, resplendent in robes of pure gold cloth. Dean walked carefully, feeling the weight of the crowd’s stares as he did. The closer he came to the centre of the room, the less nervous he felt, his worries falling away as he and Castiel met once more beneath the softly shimmering lights.

“Greetings, people of Arxelle.” Gabriel’s voice was melodic, filled with a celebratory joy that spread through the entire room. “We gather here today to mark the passing of the seasons, the turning of the year as the days shorten and the nights grow longer. The sun ceding its place to the moon, which shines with a different light. Not lesser, but different nonetheless.”

He stepped back, nodding to Castiel as he did. Castiel looked out towards the crowd, stretching his arms before him, palms facing up towards the sky. “We ask for the clarity of coldness, the contemplation of quiet, the whisper of the wind in the night. We ask for the patience to see us through the long dark.”

Gabriel nodded at Dean, and he stepped forward, copying Castiel’s pose exactly. “We ask for the humility to accept our mistakes, to renew ourselves with each setting of the sun. We ask for the courage to seek help when it is needed, to not let ourselves endure the night alone.”

The ritual words spoken, Dean breathed somewhat easier. Gabriel gave him a look of approval as he spoke once more. “Together, we will find the wisdom that sustains us, that defines us and challenges us. Let us look forever to the skies, but not forget to keep ourselves firmly rooted to the earth. For it is in the balance that we are strongest, and in the union of all things that we become whole.”

Looking out at the crowd as Gabriel spoke, Dean felt the weight of those words settle over him, not in pressure but in reassurance. Every face in the audience was turned towards them, and in their eyes Dean saw a wild hope, a spark of joy at what lay ahead. In the first row, Sam and Jess stood, watching him with wide smiles on their faces. Just beside them, Anna gave him a brief smile, inclining her head towards him in a respectful nod. Everywhere he looked, Dean saw familiar features, people who had become near and dear to his heart over these past months.

At Gabriel’s discreet cough, Dean turned slightly, arms still stretched before him. Castiel did the same, and when their hands and eyes met, Dean saw not only his own future, but that of the kingdom as well. All the struggles, all the pain, all the confusion, they had all led to this. 

He and Castiel, hand in hand, and the destiny of a kingdom before them.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the story. And please don't forget to visit the [art masterpost](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15062153) and leave some love for Aceriee, whose incredible prompt piece is the entire reason this story exists in the first place.


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